


while there is blood in my body

by salvation_dear



Category: Haven - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvation_dear/pseuds/salvation_dear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it turns out that when you don't have any money, any prospects, or a job reference who hasn't been hit by a flaming meteorite, eaten by a dream bear, or forcibly duct taped to a chair (by you) in the last forty-eight hours, it's pretty hard to make a fresh start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So it turns out that when you don't have any money, any prospects, or a job reference who hasn't been hit by a flaming meteorite, eaten by a dream bear, or forcibly duct taped to a chair (by you) in the last forty-eight hours, it's pretty hard to make a fresh start. 

Jordan McKee drove to the city limits and stopped just before the sign, listening to the engine of her SUV tick over. The road was cracked up ahead and on her right was the sea. She could hear the static sound of waves rolling in. You could hear it everywhere in Haven when the wind blew through or the tide was moving. The thrum of background sound: inexorable, inescapable, claustrophobic. Small towns. It would be easy to drive right off this road and into the sea, be surrounded by cool gray water in minutes, and wait for it to smooth away her troubles.

She peeled off leather gloves; something she only did when she was certain she was alone. It was too warm to be covered all the time, but Jordan was so used to wearing leather and mourning black she probably wouldn't recognize the feel of a sea breeze on bare skin anymore.

She could leave. Keep driving and her Trouble may ease—it was possible, even if Jordan wasn't stupid enough to be optimistic; away from Haven, it could fade to manageable. Manageable for Jordan might mean she could keep a job without constantly being afraid a customer would touch her, or she could find a boyfriend who could kiss her goodnight without having to be admitted to hospital afterward. ( _Nathan_ said that still insistent part of her brain. It would take a while, still, for her to let go of that. For now, she shook the thought away.) 

More likely, though, it would stay the same. She'd be all alone—more alone than she was in Haven, if that were even possible.

And she hadn't been picking up her shifts at the Gun and Rose; too busy with the Guard and the Troubles and the bitterness. She was broke; she had nowhere to live if the Guard weren't helping her along anymore, and she didn't have a friend in the world.

Jordan pushed a fall of hair back from her face and looked out at the ocean again, and this time exhaustion swept over her. Adrenaline had kept her running these last few weeks; she'd felt like her anger would keep her going indefinitely. Once the anger ran out of her, though, she'd faced what she was turning into. She'd thought about Nathan and Audrey and the town and all she'd felt was disgusted with herself.

So. New passage. If that meant limping out of town with her tail between her legs, that's what she'd do. She'd thought about clearing things up with Wade. She didn't feel bad for playing him, but she felt a hint of concern about how much she'd told him. Things had gone too far, she knew that now. It would be best to move out now, quickly, and let everything in Haven settle down without her.

So now there was a suitcase full of clothes in the back of her car; her phone and laptop; a rolled-up futon mattress. It occurred to Jordan that other people, people outside of Haven, might not consider hers much of a life. Hell, she didn't really think it was much of a life herself: nowhere to call home, no family, now no job, now no friends, now nothing to hold her in place. She could slip into the sea and not leave a trace.

Instead, she sighed deeply, put her gloves back on, and put her key back into the ignition.

* * *

“Hey, I was looking for you.”

“Well, I was here,” Jordan said. She leaned back against the car and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can stop looking.”

Dwight ignored her sarcasm, as he often did. “What are you doing up here?”

“Waiting for Haven to break off and fall into the ocean, of course.”

Dwight just looked at her evenly.

Jordan sighed. “Car won't start,” she said.

“Ah,” he said, and crossed in front of her to the hood. He stood for a moment, then looked up at her expectantly. “You want to pop the hood or...?”

Jordan made a face, uncrossed her arms, and opened her driver's side door. Leaned in and pulled the hood trigger. The hood creaked; opened just a touch and Dwight hooked his fingers underneath the rim and pushed it up all the way, and set it on the prop. He leaned his elbows on the front, leaning forward over the engine. 

Jordan stepped back away from the car and around to join him. She stayed a good two feet away: she didn't want to accidentally bump him, and she knew nothing about cars except where the gas went.

“You'll get dirty, Chief,” she said, trying to mask the uncertainty she felt with conversation.

Dwight frowned down at what looked to Jordan to be a maze of metal. He twisted something in front of him, then looked up at her. “Try and turn it over,” he said, and gestured to the engine.

Jordan went and sat back in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. Click.

“It's not supposed to do that, right?” she called out to him sarcastically, then jumped as she looked up to see him beside her. “Jeez, don't sneak up on me,” she said, and flexed her hands inside her gloves. “I could have--”

“It's okay,” Dwight said, although it wasn't quite clear to Jordan which subject he was referring to. “Looks like the battery,” he went on. “I can give you a jump.”

“Okay,” Jordan said dubiously.

He didn't move, though. “What are you doing up here, Jordan?”

There was a long silence, Jordan weighing up what she wanted to say—what she wanted him to hear--before she sighed. “Well, I _was_ leaving town. But I stopped up here to—think--and then this asshole--” she waved a careless hand at the dash, “Wouldn't start up again.”

Dwight peered over her shoulder into the back. “Where's all your stuff?” he asked, suspiciously.

“You're looking at it.”

“You're leaving town with a rolled-up scuzzy looking mattress and one suitcase?”

“It's not scuzzy looking,” Jordan said. She leaned back and brushed a gloved hand over the rough cotton. Dust motes rose from the fabric, then hung in the air, catching light. She grimaced. “Maybe dusty.”

Dwight moved back to his truck, got in and turned it so it was nose to nose with the hood of Jordan's SUV. When he stepped out again, she had to shield her eyes against the last late-afternoon golden shards of light behind him. She stood and leaned against her car, feeling useless.

Dwight pulled jumper leads out; held them up to show her triumphantly. Jordan rolled her eyes.

“I know, I know,” she said. “'Look, Jordan, here's the kind of thing you could carry around with you for just such an occasion.'”

“They're jumper leads,” Dwight said.

“I know what they're called,” she said, frowning.

“But you don't carry 'em or use 'em.” He leaned over and attached the leads, then looked up at her with one of his rare smiles. “Start it up,” he said, indicating to her driver's seat. “We'll let it run for a while. Should get you enough charge to be back on the road.”

“It'll probably need a new battery, though,” Jordan said gloomily, doing as he said. The car did start, on her second try, and she let it idle while Dwight walked around back to her.

“So, if you're leaving town, how are you doing for money?” he asked her, raising his voice over the sound of the engine.

“None of your business,” Jordan said immediately.

Dwight folded his arms across his chest. “So not well, then.”

“I haven't been picking up my shifts at the diner,” she said defensively. “There's been a lot going on.”

He looked at her.

“I can work it out,” she said. “Once I get—away. I don't know. Someplace else.”

Dwight unfolded his arms and slipped his hand inside one pocket as though searching for his keys. It had to be impractical to wear pants that tight, Jordan thought idly, although he did have a pretty nice ass. Objectively speaking.

She was distracted then, when he slipped folded bills into her hand between her second and third fingers, so quick she didn't have a chance to react. She stared a moment, startled to see him move so quickly and so smoothly, and moved her hand and the money started to fall to the ground. Jordan caught it in her other gloved hand, mentally calculated two hundred dollars--creased down the middle of the bills so he wouldn't have to chance touching her skin.

“I don't need this,” Jordan said, but her voice sounded uncertain even to herself. She gathered the notes together, re-creased them and held them out to him, careful to keep her fingers to the edge of the paper.

“Sure you do,” Dwight said mildly, and leaned back, almost imperceptibly taking himself further out of the money's reach.

Jordan looked down at the money in disgust, then up at him. “I can't exactly stuff this back in your hand, you know,” she said, not without some bitterness.

“Was counting on that, actually.” He looked down and to the side: Jordan had the suspicion that he was hiding a smile.

She smirked. “Of course. You asshole.”

Dwight just shrugged.

“I could crumple it up and throw it back in your face.”

“You could,” he said steadily. “But you're not going to.”

“No,” Jordan said, after a long moment. “I'm not.” She felt like there was something more she should say, but she couldn't quite get her mouth around “Thank you”, and “I'll pay you back”, sounded like it might be a lie.

“You need a place to stay?” he asked. He was watching her intently, again.

“Absolutely not.”

“Still at the apartment? I'll come by.”

“It's Vince's,” she said, with another sharp breath that could have sounded like a laugh to him, perhaps. “I moved out. I don't—I don't want anything to do with the Guard anymore. And if I don't have a job, I can't pay rent.”

“Joe would probably give you your shifts back at the G and R, if you asked.”

“I don't know,” Jordan said. “He was pretty pissed.” Not without good reason, she added silently. Jordan had skipped out at busy times if something else was going on with the Guard; she'd missed shifts without calling. Been unavailable half of the last few months recuperating from a gunshot wound—not usually an occupational hazard for waitresses—and when she'd returned she'd been depressed and irritable and anxious all the time. Joe had noticed, and the customers had noticed. They gave her some slack for a broken heart, but she'd been sleep-deprived and short-nerved the day of her last shift two weeks ago, and she'd bumped old Mr Roberts with a bare forearm when she'd been pouring his coffee.

_Stupid_ , she cursed herself, _clumsy_ , still feeling sick at the memory. The man's animal shriek of pain had made her stomach turn; she'd stumbled backward, still holding the coffee pot, and knocked into Joe, dropping the pot which shattered on the floor. She hadn't made skin contact with Joe, thank whatever small god might still be looking out for her, but it had been enough. Jordan had gone home to her little apartment and cried, and hated herself, and hated Nathan and Audrey and Haven and everyone who wasn't Troubled or whose Trouble was easier, who didn't have to _live_ with themselves....

Finally she scrubbed her eyes dry, took a hot shower, and went and met up with some of the guys from the Guard. She would be resolute. She would fix this; fix herself. No-one could keep living like this.

It was kind of funny, Jordan thought. For years she'd been believing she couldn't go on living like this, that something would have to give. For years she'd just kept holding out, miserably eking out an existence that was never a life.

She was still here. Beaten down more every day, maybe. Full of self-loathing and angry at the world, definitely. But she was still here: she could still learn and be a better person and maybe build up some small amount of happiness, one day. She wasn't holding her breath, but it was possible. She'd had her realization, after all, about Nathan, and about who she was becoming. Jordan had been many things before, but her Trouble had never made her a monster. She'd chosen that path for herself. But no more, she told herself. It was enough now. There had been enough pain in her life already, more than enough violence and killing. Now, she'd let it all go, and start again.

* * *

Dwight had cocked his head toward her, like he was waiting for a response. Jordan tried to cast her mind back; couldn't remember a question.

“Uh,” she said, searching.

Dwight raised an eyebrow. “I said, where are you going to stay?”

“I'll work something out,” Jordan said, and then, when she couldn't escape his gaze, she waved the money, still folded in her gloved hand, at him. “I'm on Dwight's dime, remember? I'll be set up in a fancy hotel room full of coke and hookers before you know it.”

Dwight coughed. “Well, they say if you can still make jokes, you can't be that bad off.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan, quietly. “I'd heard that too.”

He stood like that for a long time. Jordan watched him for a while, listening to the sound of the sea and thinking about the last few months. She'd been busy; always busy. She had the fever of the Guard and the hopes of the town running through her blood; she hadn't had time for the mundane details of life: for turning up to work, for paying attention to friends, for listening, for tasting salt air on her tongue.

She had time for all that now, of course. She was without Nathan, without purpose, and without fire, and when all that rage had poured out of her, she'd been left with nothing. She looked into the back of the car, ran another rueful hand over her mattress.

When she looked back around, Dwight was still watching her.

“Why were you looking for me?” she asked him, voice suddenly too loud in the air, even over the engine and the sea. It was darkening now, the evening turning cooler.

“Huh?” He looked out toward the sea now, where Jordan's gaze had kept drifting a moment before.

“You said you were looking for me.”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “Turn off your engine, we should have enough juice now.”

Jordan did as he asked. It was quiet, suddenly; the sea faded to a ripple. She looked down at the lights of Haven below them, silent and still. The town was quiet tonight.

“Wade Crocker was looking for you,” Dwight said. “Said you were supposed to meet up.”

Jordan sighed. Wade. “Yeah,” she said. “I thought it would be easier if I just didn't show.”

“Something going on between you two,” he said. 

Jordan wasn't sure whether it was a question. She looked up at him; waited, but he didn't say anything else. Seemed to think better of it.

He moved around to the front of her car and unhooked the leads. “Try it now,” he said, and then in the same breath: “None of my business, I just--”

The engine clicked again, then fell quiet. Jordan waited a moment, as though it would magically roar to life without her assistance, then slapped the steering wheel with one hand. It made a resounding crack against her leather glove, and she saw Dwight flinch.

“Sorry,” she said, and: “I guess that didn't work.”

“Could be the alternator,” he said. “I can tow it into town for you, take a closer look.”

“Damn it,” Jordan muttered, slipping out of the driver's seat. “I guess it would be just too much for one fucking thing to go right.” To her own ears, her voice sounded appropriately frustrated, but she trailed off toward the end, her own vocal cords softening the words against her will, making her sound--

She swiped a quick hand across her eyes—quick enough that Dwight could mistake it for wiping away sweat, or the glare of the last rays of sun. The buttons of her glove scratched against the soft skin beneath her eyes. An excuse for her eyes to water.

“Thank you,” she said, belatedly, after she'd taken a few deep breaths. “I—thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, leaning carefully around her to take her keys. She's amused, suddenly: thinking of him soothing wayward drunks, pocketing their keys, calling Haven's one cab service. The image was funnier than it had a right to be, and she barked a half-laugh.

Dwight looked at her curiously, but she didn't elaborate. He had a soothing kind of presence; he'd always been good at talking her down. He was a good choice for police chief, she realized. He had backbone as well as rationality; toughness when it counted, but a good heart.

Jordan shook her head quickly. Her mind was going off into flights of fancy. Maybe it was the sunset deepening around them; the streaks of gold and pink and lavender in the sky. There wasn't any other reason she'd suddenly be getting all emotional over Dwight. Dwight was a part of Haven, and Haven was something she desperately needed to leave behind.

“I can put your stuff in my car,” he said.

She thought about thanking him again; felt the awkward heaviness of the silence between them. “Uh,” she said instead, which didn't help. “I'll come get it,” she said finally, averting her eyes from him. “Once I figure some things out.” His gaze was making her uncomfortable. _More_ uncomfortable, obviously, since Jordan hadn't been _comfortable_ around other people in a long time. “I can pay,” she added lamely, gesturing to the car.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said drily, cutting his gaze to the notes still folded in her hand. “We'll work it out.”

“I'm leaving town,” she reminded him.

“So we'll work it out some other time,” he said. “Get the beast back on the road, take it from there.”

“It's Vince's,” she said dully, and at least this time she had the satisfaction of hearing Dwight laugh.

* * *

It was well after dark by the time she made it back to town, walking, despite Dwight's constant and somewhat puzzling offers of assistance. Jordan thought she probably needed the time alone, though. She'd become used to doing everything on her own: making decisions, living and sleeping. With a pang of regret she thought of Nathan and Audrey, now able to be part of each other's lives, to be a part of the other's whole.

Before her Trouble had manifested, Jordan never thought of herself as needy or clingy or desperate for a relationship. She couldn't remember feeling lonely, either, at least not like now. Loneliness was a gaping wound now, always there and always felt. She talked to people at work—waitressing had been good for that, at least—and had acquaintances, of a sort, in town and in the Guard.

Now, she thought unhappily, she'd become a joke, the pathetic woman who couldn't get over Nathan Wuornos.

It was a special kind of hellishly unfair that she'd spent years isolated from everyone and when finally she'd found someone who could _touch_ her—who cared to try—he'd been caught up in this fairytale perfection that was him and Audrey.

Jordan hadn't stood a chance. She could see that now. It didn't make it hurt less, but she could see it.

The city lights drew her downhill, although there was still a part of her tempted by the sea. It would be dark and quiet and so very alone. It was a half-hearted kind of thought, though, and it didn't last long. If Dwight was fixing her car, she was going to owe him money--on top of the loan she'd taken out of desperation, which was now burning a hole in her pocket.

She'd have to pay him back. Jordan had become many things, but there was a faint, fierce spark of honor in her. There was no way she could leave a debt unpaid, even if she didn't know yet where the money would come from.

The lights brightened as she walked, and when she made it back to town they were almost too bright, blotting out the stars. Jordan wasn't really sure where to go. She'd packed up her apartment. The advantage of renting furnished and not having many possessions was that you could clean your place out in a hour and your landlord could rent it tomorrow. Probably would rent it tomorrow, if Jordan knew Vince at all, though she hadn't gone back to talk to him after cutting him free and had just dropped her keys in his mailbox. He'd probably prefer not to see her again. God knew she'd prefer not to see him.

He'd be glad she was gone, no doubt. The fleeting thought of asking him for the key back so she could stay for a couple extra nights was not welcome. So she kept wandering. Made it past the police station and spent a few painful, self-indulgent minutes staring at the windows, although there wasn't much to see. Lighted desks and the occasional glimpse of one of the uniformed officers—it was too late at night for Nathan to still be there, unless he'd been working on something big. Jordan walked on, feeling a little worse.

* * *

_Darkness_ , she thought this time, heading away from the well-lit streets, out onto the winding road. Didn't notice she was heading toward the Gray Gull until she heard the music and as she walked through the parking lot, conversations from within that made her hesitate before she reached the door. Duke Crocker would be there, or Wade, and she didn't have any desire to see either of them.

She could drink, if she went in. It would warm her and fuzz out her feelings from the day; from the last months and years. Jordan wasn't normally much of a drinker—she kept a terrified hold on her inhibitions—but the idea had held more appeal lately, in the same way she'd thought about rolling her SUV down the hill and into the sea. It would wash away her sharp corners and hurts. Leave her smooth as a river stone and quiet-minded. 

And drunk, she added to herself after a moment, or dead, and she couldn't afford to be either of those things.

She'd put her hand to the door handle and dropped it again twice when she heard her name.

“Jordan?”

Jordan turned, blinking a little in the change of light. On the stairs, moon bright behind her, Lexie came toward her.

Audrey. Whoever.

Jordan took a step back from the door, folding her arms defensively. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you,” Audrey said, twisting a length of blonde hair around one finger.

Jordan shook her head. “No. You really don't.”

Audrey sighed. “Come upstairs. Five minutes, I promise.”

Later, Jordan wasn't really sure why she complied, but she found herself following Audrey up the stairs mildly. She had nothing else to do, she supposed. Nowhere else to go.

Audrey opened the door, leading them into the apartment. Moonlight shone clear through the big windows, and before Audrey walked around to turn on lights, Jordan could see its reflection in the sea, outside and low. Clear nights must be beautiful in here. Jordan imagined candles, a soft atmosphere, and then thought of Nathan—here, admiring the view, talking softly with Audrey, his face bowed to hers—and there was a quick kick of revulsion in her stomach.

At least, revulsion was the feeling she was willing to admit to. There was jealousy, too, if she dug deeper. A wistful faraway sense of betrayal. A trickling coldness, like blood leaving her body.

Jordan stopped herself for a moment and stood still, clenching her fists by her side, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, Audrey was watching her. The apartment was bright now; the moon's reflection on the sea drowned out by electric lights. Jordan took an awkward step further into the room, stepping aside an instinctive large amount of space to let Audrey past. She tugged at one glove with the other hand, not removing it, just rearranging the seams along her fingers just so.

She flinched involuntarily as Audrey walked past her, even though Jordan had seen her move; knew Audrey was just walking, not trying to touch her, just moving further into the room. She blinked a few times in rapid succession, willing herself to keep it together.

“Coffee, maybe?” Audrey asked.

Jordan refocused herself and looked up. Audrey was watching her, her usually watchful eyes compassionate. Jordan felt her skin crawl.

“Can't we just get this over with? What do you want from me?”

Audrey considered her for a moment, then shrugged, flipping a length of hair behind one shoulder. “Well, I'm making it, so maybe you'll change your mind.” She moved into the small kitchenette, and pulled a cup from a shelf before filling it with water, hesitating before putting it into the microwave. “Sure I can't convince you?”

Jordan seethed. “Sure,” she said finally, resigned to the fact that Audrey was not going to be rushed. “Hit me.” She took a few measured steps forward, and sat down on the couch. Looked up at Audrey. “I might as well make myself comfortable, right?” she asked tartly, trying to convey every part of the annoyance she felt.

Audrey, however, didn't seem to get it, and just smiled, filling another mug and placing it with the first. “Yes, you should. Make yourself at home.”

Jordan analyzed that sentence for sarcasm, but didn't find anything. Puzzled, she settled herself further down into the couch, which was overstuffed and covered in cushions and entirely too comfortable. She found herself leaning back, head against the headrest, and realized how heavy her legs had become. Exhaustion was catching up with her. She snapped herself forward again, almost to attention, and leaned forward away from the back of the couch.

She heard the microwave hum, and turned her head so she could watch Audrey. The blonde woman pulled the mugs down and placed them on the counter in front of her, then spooned in instant coffee powder with little ceremony. She picked them up by the handles, one in each hand, and pushed through the beaded curtains separating the rooms, then crossed over to the couch to hand one to Jordan.

“Hope you don't want cream or sugar, or—anything,” Audrey said. “It's been kind of a long time between grocery shopping.”

“Yeah, I don't really like sweets,” Jordan said, looking into the cup dubiously.

“There's a surprise.”

“How old's the coffee?” Jordan asked suspiciously.

Audrey paused. “Before--” she started, and then stopped. “I don't know,” she said finally. “Coffee doesn't go bad, though.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Jordan, and took a cautious sip. It was lukewarm and tasted faintly dusty.

“So I was looking for you.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said, once she'd swallowed her mouthful of coffee. “All of a sudden it seems like that's going around.”

“I need to talk to you.” Audrey pulled a chair out from what Jordan assumed was her dining table, although it was currently housing folded laundry and a stack of paperback books.

“Okay,” Jordan said.

Audrey took a deep breath. “You need to not tell anyone who I am. That I'm—Audrey, I mean. I know--” she put her hand up, stopping Jordan even as she opened her mouth to reply, “I know your past with Nathan. Even with me. I know you don't feel like you owe me--us--any favors.” She put her cup down on the table, disturbing one of the books, which slid off the stack and onto the floor. 

Jordan watched it fall, and let her gaze stay on the floor.

“I get why you're upset,” Audrey went on, voice lower. “You feel like Nathan played you.”

“We played each other,” Jordan interrupted, but her voice was softer than she'd wanted. She kept her eyes low; found a dust bunny on the floor and traced it with her gaze as it fluttered softly in the draft. Her head was so heavy. “I mean, in a way. I guess.”

“Yeah,” Audrey agreed. “But you came out worse.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan; barely audible, even to herself.

“And I get that,” Audrey went on. “It doesn't excuse everything, but I can understand.”

Jordan didn't reply. Her mouth was heavy too. If she went to the sea now, she would sink like a stone.

“But this is important. If people know who I am, they're going to want me to kill Nathan to end the Troubles. And I can't do that. You should be able to understand that.”

Jordan didn't, not really. She'd been willing to do whatever it took to end the Troubles, and to protect people who needed her. They needed things to change. She'd been the only one ready and willing enough to keep trying to make it happen, even when Vince brushed her off with mumbled words about how he was working on it, and Nathan wouldn't make any move that might hurt Audrey, and Audrey—well, Audrey was supposed to be the _one_. She was supposed to fix things, but like everyone else, it seemed like she was just going to go along with the cycle.

So, no, she didn't understand, but Jordan was too tired to work up much bile about it. Instead, she merely inclined her head, which Audrey took as a go-ahead to keep talking.

“I _cannot_ do that,” Audrey said again, voice low and fierce.

Surprised, Jordan looked up at her. Audrey's elbows were on her knees and she was leaning forward, studying her intently.

“It's okay,” she said finally. “I'm not going to tell anyone. I figure—actually,” Jordan sighed. “I don't know if there's a way to end the Troubles. But I'm not going to fight you anymore.”

Audrey exhaled and leaned back.

Jordan took another gulp of coffee and leaned forward to put the half-full cup on the table, taking that extra moment to compose herself. It didn't completely work, probably because she was so worn thin she was barely making sense to herself anymore. “I'm—I can't keep—becoming--what I'm becoming. I need to get away from all of this. I'm leaving Haven.”

Audrey regarded her. “When?”

Jordan laughed bitterly. “Excellent question, I'd like the answer to it myself. My car broke down, I don't have anywhere to stay while it's getting fixed, I don't have anywhere to go--” she trailed off. “You don't care. Look, I have to go.”

“Wait,” Audrey said, pulling her chair forward. She put her hand on Jordan's arm, over her sleeve, but Jordan still flinched. It was her nature by now, to recoil.

And it wasn't fair, she thought to herself sadly. She'd never wanted to hurt people. She'd never wanted to be hurt. There had been a time, a million years ago now, when Jordan had been friendly and outgoing and affectionate.

That Jordan was long gone now, sealed in a grave, never to be seen again. Jordan pulled her hand out of Audrey's reach and rubbed at her eyes again.

“You okay?” Audrey asked, looking at her with concern.

“Of course,” Jordan said.

“I appreciate your cooperation with this matter,” Audrey said. It was a quaint, formal phrasing. Jordan recognized it as cop language. Very Audrey. Not very Lexie.

“You should probably go easy on the four-syllable Scrabble winners if you want people to believe you.”

“Huh?”

“Your words,” Jordan said. “You sound like—well, you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Audrey said. “That. I try to get, you know, into character, before I go out.” She gestured at the door, at the world outside it.

“Well,” Jordan said heavily, putting her hands down on the couch beside her and pushing herself to her feet. “Best of luck with that.” She looked back at Audrey, who was looking at her kind of oddly.

“Thank you,” she said after a minute. “Best of luck to you too.”

“I didn't--” Jordan started to say _mean it like that_ but then realized that even under the circumstances, it seemed rude to be in Audrey's house, drinking her (admittedly not good) coffee, and keep driving that point of sarcasm home.

“You said you didn't have anywhere to stay.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan. “I mean no. I'm fine.”

Audrey stood and pulled open a drawer in her tall cabinet. She pulled out a card and handed it to Jordan.

“Over the Way. Bed and Breakfast,” she said. “Number's on the card, if you want it, but if you just want to show up, someone'll be there.”

“Oh,” said Jordan, taken aback.

“It's reasonably priced and clean,” Audrey went on. “If you need a temporary—something.”

“Yeah, I need a temporary something,” Jordan said. She raised the card between gloved fingers. “I should go.”

Audrey saw her out, which again to Jordan was probably more polite than the situation deserved. She managed to shake the other woman off, though, and went down the stairs alone, listening to them creak beneath her feet. The Gull wasn't tempting, this time. Jordan turned on the bottom step and started making her away across the parking lot.

When she was almost at the grass edge of the gravel road, she heard the music get louder, and glancing back saw the door had opened. Her initial thought was that people were heading home, but then her eyes refocused in the dark, and she saw Wade Crocker, standing in the doorway, looking out across the lot.

Jordan stood there, staring back at him for a long moment. He wouldn't be able to see her—he had lights shining in his eyes and she was in a patch of darkness. It was eerie, though, the way he looked out, as though searching through the dark. Jordan thought for a second that she should call out to him. Talk to him and try to explain that she didn't think Nathan was the right way to end the Troubles anymore. Tell him she'd been wrong.

But she didn't. She just watched him for another long moment, while he seemed to stare back at her, and then turned and walked up the road.

* * *

End of part one.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Jordan had been sleeping erratically for months, so it was a shock when she slept solidly until noon the next day. She'd checked into the bed and breakfast late, walked through the door and relocked it behind her, dropped her phone on the nightstand and then immediately laid down on the bed. Her plan had been to rest her eyes for a minute before getting up to shower, but she woke uncomfortably hot, with the sun shining through the window onto her face.

Gritty with sweat, she peeled off her gloves and jacket, and looked around for the noise that had woken her. Her phone, she realized belatedly: still half-asleep, her mind was slow in catching up to her body. She'd left the phone on silent and it had buzzed across the nightstand before settling again. She woke it from sleep by swiping a bare finger across the screen.

The number wasn't one she recognized, but there was a text message waiting. Jordan hesitated before opening it, unable to imagine who'd be texting her. She scrubbed a hand down one unclothed arm, grimaced at the feeling of dried sweat, and then she opened it.

_Dwight said u were looking 4 work. Coffee shop across from the station has sign in the window. You can make coffee, right?--Audrey._

Jordan read the message twice, irritated. Of course she could make coffee. Better coffee than Audrey, she of the microwaved instant, that was for sure. Better than she'd made at the Gun and Rose, filtered and sat waiting for customers because people came in all hours of the day.

She seethed, too, about the fact that Audrey would send her information about where to find a job, as though Jordan couldn't do a thing for herself. As though she was some kind of charity case, taken on by saintly Audrey in her quest to save the goddamn world.

And how had Audrey even gotten her number, anyway? Nathan? The idea made Jordan's skin crawl. She spent a few unpleasant minutes imagining how that could have come about, Nathan in Audrey's light-filled apartment in the morning, the two of them looking at each other with steady, unhurried gazes, talking quietly about the world around them.

Audrey could touch him, of course, and he could feel it, but Jordan stopped herself before she started visualizing it.

It wasn't fair, she thought with another--so familiar--burst of jealousy and hurt. Nathan got his happy ending, the missing piece of his heart; he got the girl.

Jordan got the witch's cave, the cold, lonely, mossy winters, and the townspeople with pitchforks.

Annoyed with herself, she forced herself to stop imagining, reread the message and figured it out. Dwight. Of course. Speaking of taking on charity cases. He was an itch under her skin—they'd been acquaintances and they'd worked together, they'd butted heads and they'd been on opposite sides of a standoff, and now they were somewhere in between all of those things, and Jordan didn't really know anymore where they stood.

But she was definitely sure she didn't need him looking after her like she was some kind of stray puppy. She slapped her phone back down. He used to be scared of her—wary, at least. Jordan hated her Trouble—without a doubt, unequivocally, _hated_ it in a way she could never resolve to herself. She could never be at peace. But there was something about it—some tiny, discomforting thrill of power. The power to protect herself. No one ever touched her without permission, not anymore.

No one ever touched her, period, said a dark part of her heart, but she tried to ignore it. She could scare Dwight, who was huge and intimidating physically, even if he'd never given her a heartbeat of a reason to be nervous around him. If she could stop him in his tracks, she could stop anyone. It was a comfort, she amended, rather than a feeling of power. It was cold comfort.

But he was encroaching, now, and their relationship seemed to be turning itself upside down without asking Jordan's permission. She didn't ask for help. She didn't need help. Anyone's help.

She raised a hand to her head, frustrated. Then she saved Audrey's number as a contact and went to shower.

* * *

Dwight wasn't home, naturally, although Jordan's car was parked on his front lawn. He'd be at work, she guessed. Respectability made for respectable work hours, so he wouldn't be home during the day anymore.

Jordan felt a weird kind of tug at her heart at the thought of it. Dwight was one step closer to being normal, she supposed. He coped. He wore Kevlar and helped people and had a nine to five and people respected him. Liked him.

He used to be on the outside of everything, like Jordan herself. She should be happy for him. In a way, she was. He deserved it—Dwight was good people and she knew he'd had enough pain from his Trouble already. He deserved quiet seas and steady employment and a life.

It didn't mean she couldn't be a little bit jealous.

His street was out of town, big semi-rural blocks of land and lots of trees. Spacious but still with a sense of community. It was nice along here in the hottest days of summer, she knew. The trees kept it shaded and it was in a valley under a hill that seemed to make it a few degrees cooler. Knowing what she knew about Haven's weather patterns and propensity for natural disaster, she wasn't sure she'd want to live under a hill herself.

Jordan surveyed her car and the yard quickly. She'd given Dwight her keys. For a second, she thought about smashing the window with a rock. Reconsidered after remembering her negative bank balance and the price of a new window.

Dwight had a shed full of tools and things she guessed he used for cleaning and for solving problems. It was ramshackle, vaguely spidery, and as securely locked as her SUV was, but there was a tiny window at the back that Jordan could fit through if she hooked her hands under the sill and kept wriggling. Once inside, she paused to consider and dust herself off. It was an Aladdin's cave of junk. Cogs and wheels, crowbars and mallets, a tiny set of drawers which, on further investigation, were filled with tiny tiny bolts and screws. A kid's tricycle, covered with dust. Jordan looked at that last for a long moment, then went to find herself a piece of wire.

She was pushing the wire through the driver's side window jamb for her fourth unsuccessful try when she heard a car pull into the street. She waited, heard it approach and pull up behind her, glanced over her shoulder, then dropped her wire and turned around. Folding her arms, she leaned back against the SUV's door.

“Chief,” she said, as he opened his own door.

“Jordan,” Dwight replied. “One of my neighbors reported a suspicious prowler.”

“Oh, no,” Jordan said tartly. “Do you think it's safe to be out here?”

He crossed over to her, and leaning over to one side, carefully extracted the wire from the window frame.

“It's not nice to break into other people's property,” he chided.

“It's my car!”

“Vince might say otherwise.”

Jordan rolled her eyes.

“I meant my shed.” He nodded toward the back of the house.

Jordan sighed. “Don't your neighbors have anything better to do with their time? How did they even see me?”

Rather than responding, he produced her car keys from a pocket, and clicked them. The car's safeties flashed, and Jordan heard it unlock.

“You could have just asked,” he said, holding out the keys.

“I was in a hurry,” she said, taking them. She looked at the car. “I take it the battery's fixed.”

“Replaced it. I wonder if there's a loose wire somewhere, though.”

Jordan studied him. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward and took the keys from her again. She froze, although she was wearing gloves and he was precise in his movements. Dwight flicked the keys a few more times. The lights flashed once, twice, then on his third try stayed dark.

“Ah,” Jordan said, dispirited.

Dwight shrugged. “It's probably not a big deal. I just need to find the problem before I fix it.”

“Well, yeah,” Jordan said, with the slightest note of sarcasm. “That would make the most sense, I guess.”

He moved over to the hood, not meeting her eyes. “You're still in a hurry to get out of town, then?”

Jordan turned her head, watching him. “Actually, I just got a job.”

“Oh,” he said, and looked up. “Congratulations.”

“Well, you know, with my skill set. Slicing pie and making change. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped me up.”

“Decent with a shotgun, too,” he said. “Where?”

Jordan hesitated. “Coffee shop across from the station. Which you knew,” she added pointedly.

Dwight nodded; ignored her jibe. “They make good coffee. Their pie's only fair, though.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“So I guess I'll see you. Since you're going to be working just down the street.”

“Yeah,” she said heavily. “From Nathan, too.”

“You going to be okay with that?”

She sighed. “We'll find out, I guess. I can't really avoid him in Haven.”

“So, did you break my window?”

“Huh?”

Dwight pointed toward the back of the house. They could see his shed from where they stood. The paint was peeling; Jordan could see a curl of it shadowing the midday sunlight beside the door. She looked at the house. It was peeling there, too, and the windows were fogged with dirt; one of them cracked and taped but not yet replaced.

“I can see the door's still locked from here,” he said. “You must have gone through the window. There's a crowbar in there, you know. Lock-picks. There are actual tools you could use to break into your car much easier.”

“With a little more practice I would have gotten it with the wire. It's tougher than it looks,” she added defensively. “But, no, I didn't break your window. If you push it up on the left side, you can roll it off its tracks.”

Dwight inclined his head. “Ah. See, I haven't checked it, because it's tiny--”

“It's not that small,” said Jordan. “If I can fit through it, there's a town full of delinquent teenagers that could fit through it too.”

He held up a hand. “And because I figured Haven was full of decent, respectful people who wouldn't spend their weekday afternoons jiggling a man's shed window until they could get in and steal all his stuff.”

“Yeah, well, now you know differently. And it wasn't all afternoon. And I didn't steal any of your old junk. Who would want that stuff?”

He leveled a look at her. “It's not junk, Jordan. If you knew what you were looking at--”

She waved a hand back at him dismissively. “That's what everyone says about their old junk.”

He looked through the window of the SUV. “And you don't keep much yourself, do you? Here,” he handed her her keys so she could manually unlock the back door. Jordan reached inside, then took an instinctive step back as Dwight stepped forward and pulled her case out of the seat, putting it on the ground beside her. 

“I could have got it myself,” she said.

“I know,” he said mildly. “So what's the plan now?”

“For the next fifteen minutes, or for the rest of my life?”

“Maybe somewhere in between those two.”

She sighed. “Got a job. Next, I guess, find somewhere to stay that's a little more practical than the B&B. Three, pay Dwight back the money I owe him--” she sneaked a glance at him, sideways.

“Not necessary,” he said, raising his hands.

“Yes, necessary,” Jordan said firmly. “Four, I'm not sure yet. Burn Haven to the ground including all inhabitants, I guess.”

“You're funny.”

“Yeah, well, that's number five on the list. Start that standup comedy career I've always dreamed of.”

He closed the door and held out his hand for the keys. Jordan didn't give them to him. He waited.

“Jordan.”

“What?” She put the keys in her pants pocket.

“Car needs more work,” he said reprovingly. “When's the last time you changed the oil?”

“That would be never.”

He sighed. “Has it been running rough?”

“I don't know,” Jordan said slowly. “What does that mean?”

He sighed again. “I'm not sure you deserve this car.”

Jordan shrugged, looked down. “Yeah, I'm not sure I deserve a lot of things.”

There was a rustle in the trees behind them, at the edge of Dwight's property. Jordan jumped; felt her heart speed up, her breath quicken, her vision start to go dark around the edges. For a moment all she could hear was her own labored breath, then she wrapped her arms around herself, tightly, as though she could hold herself into place, and when she noticed Dwight looking at her, tried a wan smile.

“That breeze is cold,” she said.

“Uh huh,” said Dwight.

Jordan looked down and noticed her gloved hands trembling, inside her folded arms. She slipped her hands closest to her body, out of sight, and tried to suppress a shiver.

Dwight was still watching her. “Okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said quickly. “What was that?”

“Turkey, probably,” he said. “I've seen a few around here in the mornings. If it's quiet enough.” He smiled. “Snowshoe hares, too. You're missing out, stuck in town.”

“Shit,” said Jordan. “Do your neighbors hunt? You should wear orange.”

“I've got the vest, Jordan.” He touched it; fingertips to his chest.

“Doesn't cover much,” she said doubtfully. “They could still shoot you in the face. The leg. Kneecap. Kneecap would be terrible.”

He winced. “It _is_ terrible, yeah. Now stop that.”

“I'm just saying. You've been shot in the kneecap?”

“Seen it,” he said shortly.

She was silent for a long moment. “I guess there's no such thing as a good place to get shot.”

“Some worse than others,” he said. “Like yours,” he said, pointing a hand in the direction of her chest and shoulder. 

His arm was loose and he moved slowly, but Jordan instinctively shrank back.

Dwight lowered his hand until he was pointing to her stomach, then dropped it back to his side. “Hurt like hell, I bet,” he went on, seemingly oblivious to her reaction, but she noticed his eyes follow her as she stepped sideways and away from him. She was trying to seem casual, but he watched her like he was a hunter himself. “But it healed up okay. Not too many aftereffects.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan, her voice sounding to herself as though it was coming from far away, down a well. She shook herself. “I mean no. I'm fine now.”

“So. More plans for the future?” he prodded. 

She sighed. “I don't know. Try therapy again, maybe.” She cut her eyes at him immediately, not sure if he'd think it was funny.

He nodded, though, seriously. “Not the worst idea you've ever had.”

“Didn't really help last time,” she grumbled. “Probably made everything worse.”

Dwight considered her. Conversationally, he said: “Some of the guys I served with had PTSD.”

Jordan blinked. “Okay.”

He held out his hands for the keys again, and Jordan rolled her eyes but dug in her pocket for them. They'd dropped to the very bottom of her fabric pocket and she had to shift her hips to close her fingers around them and pull them out. Dwight's hand was still waiting, so she dropped them into his palm from a few inches above it. 

“Hyper reactivity to noises and quick movements,” he said, as though reciting from a manual. “Trouble sleeping. Trouble focusing. Always on guard--”

“Ha,” said Jordan bitterly.

“Difficulty trusting people. Angry all the time. Feeling hopeless.”

Jordan bristled. “Dwight, if you've got a point, feel free to make it any time.”

“Kind of thought I already did,” he said, and locked the car before pocketing the keys again. “You want a ride back into town?”

* * *

Jordan forgot, sometimes, what the world around Haven looked like. She got tunnel vision that made her only see work and the road and struggling people and ugly things. Maine in summer could break your heart with how beautiful it was, though: pale greenery dotted with wildflowers and weeds; sandpipers and jays fighting and diving in long grass; dark green trees outlined against skies of pale bright blue.

Jordan felt it again: that overwhelming, swamping, sudden emotion. A dark bird flew out of the undergrowth at the side of the road as they drove slowly past. It ascended as Jordan watched, first with a burst of movement and then slower, wings stretched, rising and rising unhurriedly to the sky. She turned her face closer to the window as Dwight drove, trying to ignore the lump in her throat and tightening around her eyes, annoyed with herself.

Stupid. Jordan had always been cool with her emotions. Lately, though, they were taking over her life. If she wasn't feeling rage run through her veins, red hot and unstoppable, then she was tearing up over everything. Over things that shouldn't matter; that never would have mattered before. Flying birds. Spilled coffee. Nathan Wuornos.

“You tell Lexie you got the job?” Dwight asked finally.

"Did you tell Lexie to look out for me?  You know, _the entire town_ doesn't need to know my deep dark secrets. Especially—damn, Audrey Parker? Really?"

Dwight looked amused, which conversely made Jordan's blood boil hotter. "I didn't tell anyone your secrets," he said, in what she assumed he thought was a soothing voice.  "Just that you could use some help."

“Oh my God,” Jordan exploded. It was a relief, in a way, to have something to be annoyed at. “Exactly how much did of this did you set up? Lexie said you told her I was looking for work, but that was it. Was this even her idea? I do not need you looking out for me, you know.”

“Jordan,” he said, once she let him. “I just saw her and mentioned it, calm down.”

“Don't tell me to calm down,” she muttered, keeping her gaze fixed on the window. The road rolled past into town, too quickly. She could feel her heart getting heavier the closer they got. 

“She remembered they were hiring at the coffee shop. I guess with what happened at the Black House they're busier.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan, after a minute, somewhat mollified. “That's Haven for you. Keeping small business interests alive by incinerating your competitors. They should put it on the tourist brochures.”

Dwight acknowledged her with a sideways glance, but otherwise didn't respond.

“Dwight, do you ever get sick of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven,” she said, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Feels like every week we're burying someone. Troubled people, or people who just get caught in crossfire—like the meteor shower.” She grimaced. “People with families, loved ones. We've lost so many in the Guard it's like I don't have room in between all the other losses to feel bad for them anymore.”

Dwight said: “I think you might be the only one in the Guard who ever got sentimental about that.”

“That's not true,” she said. “And you know it. We're—they're—people. Like anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Dwight said heavily. “You were always kinda different, though. You want to go back to the B&B?” He indicated for the turnoff. “Or into town?”

“Town,” she said after a moment. “I can get around.”

“I'm going back into work, anyway.”

“To write up your report on the prowler?” Calmer now, she looked back at him. He looked at her, then back to the road.

“The chief doesn't write reports,” he said. “The chief signs off on other people's reports.”

“Nathan--” she started, and then thought better of what she was going to say. “Never mind. What else has the chief got to do? Besides signing off on other people's reports.”

“Town business meeting,” he said, trying to sound more enthusiastic about it than he felt. “And probably stop by the marina. Got word something's coming in.”

“Crocker,” Jordan said.

“Same as always,” Dwight agreed. “Not much I'm gonna do about it, but it's probably best to keep an eye out.”

“Dwight. Wade...” her voice trailed off.

“What about him?” he prompted, when he was sure she wouldn't say more on her own.

“I told him--” she stopped speaking again. “I told him information about the Troubles,” she went on quickly.

“What kind of information?”

She shook her head, frustrated. “His family's Troubles. Nathan and Audrey. Ending the Troubles. You know, not _everything_ \--”

“But enough,” Dwight said grimly. “Jordan, you keep stirring things up like this, someone's gonna get hurt.”

“I know,” she said apologetically. “I know, okay? I was so angry. So fucking angry. I shouldn't have—but you know what it's like? Being like--” she waved her arms, hands in gloves, in front of her-- “ _this_ all the time?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mine's not the same, but yeah.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “No one was doing anything.”

“Jordan,” he said carefully. He indicated a turn and pulled over at the side of the road, and put an arm across the back of the seat to turn toward her. He wasn't even close to touching her, but Jordan shifted forward in her seat. “Maybe we're not going to be _able_ to do anything.”

Jordan blinked, fast. “I know,” she said. “Fuck, I know.”

“Jordan--”

“Yeah,” she said. “I _know_ , okay? I need to give it up. Stop—expecting things to change. Well, I'm accepting it. Audrey and Nathan are meant to be. Mystical heavenly soulmates kind of shit, and I'm--” she trailed off.

“Jordan,” Dwight said again. His gaze on her was steady, unreadable.

“And I'm like this for good, okay?” She flexed in fingers in front of her. Her voice was coming softer now, more tired. “They're not going to change it. _I'm_ not going to change it. I tried. Damn.” She turned completely away from him now, facing the window. She could see the outline of her own reflection in the glass, washed out by the daylight, ghostlike. “So I've only got one option left. I'll accept it and move on,” she said, her voice getting softer still, whispering away to almost nothing. “Or, you know, maybe I've got two options. Accept it and live with it, or don't.”

“It was the 'don't' that I was more worried about,” Dwight said. His voice was quiet, but it still made her jump, as though a part of her had forgotten he was there. 

She composed herself, tried to make her face blank, then turned back to him. He watched her, steadily.

“I'm okay,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “I just wanted it to stop. I think about the future, you know, and it's like looking into a black hole.”

There was a long silence. “I get that,” he said finally. He brought his arm down from the rest. Moved his hand fractionally toward her, and Jordan sat still. “I get it,” he said again, more urgently, although he didn't move his hand again. “You're not going to be all alone. Isn't that the whole point of the Guard? The real point, I mean. The point that's important to you and me, and--” he waved his hand out toward the windshield, “All of Haven's Troubled. We group together. We don't have to do it all alone.”

“ _You're_ defending the Guard to me?”

“I thought I was defending _you_ to you,” he said, and started the car.

There was another long silence before Dwight pulled up at the first red light into town.

Jordan took a breath. “You don't talk much about Afghanistan,” she said.

Dwight remained still and facing forward, watching the light intently. “No,” he said finally. “I don't. But if there's something you want to know, go ahead.”

“I—no,” she said.

“Jordan. I trust you.”

She scoffed. “Dwight. Trust is a hell of a word.”

“Well, go on. It's not like you to hold back.”

“I hold back,” she said. “You should hear some of the things I think but never say.”

“Terrifying thought,” he said drily. “Go ahead and ask, you big chicken.”

“Well, now there's been a lead-up and it's awkward,” she grumbled. Then she straightened her back; sobered. “It was pretty rough there, right?”

He considered. “Some of it. Being shot,” he glanced in her direction. “Wasn't great, obviously. The guys in my platoon--” he trailed off, cleared his throat. “I liked being part of a team. Felt like we were going to achieve something. Help people.”

“You miss it,” she said, almost a question.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Times change. You find a new place to belong.”

“And that's Haven.”

“That's Haven, I guess. Come on, it's not so bad here. Cheap place to buy a house.”

Jordan snorted. “I don't think that's first on my agenda.”

“Could be,” he said. “Settle down, plant a garden--”

“Raise a family?” she asked snidely, and then: “Sorry. I was thinking of—I'm sorry.”

Dwight's face changed: his guard went up, but he shook his head again. “It's okay,” he said, but Jordan knew him. She knew what he looked like when he lied.

“Lizzie stayed with her mom then, right?” She asked it quietly.

Dwight blew out a harsh breath and stared out the side window. The light turned green, but Jordan didn't want to draw his attention to it. There wasn't anyone behind them, anyway.

He mumbled something under his breath that Jordan didn't quite catch--”her name”, and something-”more”.

_No-one says her name anymore_ , Jordan's brain pieced together after a minute, and she felt terrible. Worse, when he looked at her, a wry, painful smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “With her mom. That was never going to work out, and I guess I didn't realize how bad things were. With her. Liz couldn't stay with her. Not in the long term.”

“She was a nice kid,” Jordan said carefully, after first considering, then rejecting saying: _Oh God I'm an asshole, I'm so sorry for bringing this up_. After a moment's thought, she added again anyway: “I'm sorry.” She'd said it to him before, and it sounded as worthless now as it had back then.

Haven was one long round of _I'm sorry something terrible happened to your loved one_ , she thought bitterly.

Dwight, though, didn't even seem to have heard what she'd said. He nodded, once. “Kids need someone to look out for them. Someone who loves them.”

“She had you,” Jordan said softly.

* * *

Dwight left Jordan in town, purposefully not remembering to leave her her suitcase. He got a text from her before he even made it back to the office, and sent her a reply saying he'd drop it by the B&B. She didn't reply again, but imagining the annoyed face she'd make at the inconvenience made him smile to himself.

Which—helped, he had to admit. Jordan was right. Haven was constantly drowning in death. He'd lost track of the amount of late-night phone calls and home visits he'd made, telling families he was sorry, he was sorry, he was always so damn sorry. They were starting to blur into one grief-soaked house call, generic living room, blank-faced next of kin sitting on plaid couches yelling or crying or saying “Thank you for coming by, Chief,” which was the one that always hurt him the worst.

People shouldn't have to thank him for telling them the worst news of their lives.

He could see, then, why Jordan had been getting along the way she had lately—or maybe he should say _not_ getting along. She was angry—he'd seen her angry before, that wasn't unusual—but there had been this driven intensity to her lately, above and beyond her _usual_ driven intensity and into obsession.

Nathan Wuornos was a part of it. Dwight had seen what was happening, saw that Jordan, despite her carefully constructed walls of self-reliance, was going to get hurt. She'd tried to play Wuornos, but Wuornos wasn't that easy to play, and it had backfired on Jordan in a way Dwight wasn't sure she could have anticipated.

She had a kind heart, Dwight knew. He'd seen her with the new Troubled that the Guard brought to town and tried to look out for. She was gentle and sympathetic with them. There was always that wall between Jordan and other people, but she tried. Standoffish as she was, by circumstance rather than nature, she tried to make connections and help people.

And she'd got burned, big time. Dwight knew what had been driving her. Nathan was going to be her savior. He was going to lead Jordan to the solution to all the Troubles, and along the way he'd become this kind of shining symbol of the fact that she could be normal.

Dwight was sorry she'd been hurt, but normal wasn't really showing up on his radar these days. He was still hanging on to the thoughts he'd had in the aftermath of Lizzie. That was how he thought of it now, not _Lizzie's death_ or _what happened to Lizzie_ , but Lizzie, as though everything she'd been could be all summed up in that one moment, that one crack of sound.

But he'd decided then and still lived by that decision. He'd stay in Haven and help people. Kids like Lizzie who needed someone to protect them; families he could keep together and safe and never have to knock on their doors and be ushered into their living rooms (dark or over lit, smelling of cooking dinner or cat pee or the sea) and start conversations with _I'm so sorry_.

At the station, he checked in with Tatum, who he'd put on a malicious damage call out that looked like it could have turned ugly, and checked his inbox and his calls. Dwight liked the amount of work that came with being chief, even if he wasn't maybe completely sold on the position itself. But it made for long hours filing reports and double-checking that evidence was logged and dotting Is and crossing Ts on warrants.

He needed something to keep him busy, after all.

Like now, when he couldn't fill the time easily, he'd find ways to fill it. He took Jordan's suitcase to her B&B, received very effusive thanks and what he was pretty sure was a come-on from her new and very elderly landlady. He went and talked with some of the business owners in town about increasing security. Haven's crime rate had risen since the meteor shower—not just Troubled people causing incidents, but regular vandalism and assaults and theft, the kind of crimes that were supposed to be small in a small town. People were unsettled, he knew. They felt unsafe.

That was something he could work on. He went back to his office, reviewed his patrols and staffing levels and budget. Revised some schedules. Ran them past Laverne, who knew the office better than anyone, and revised yet again, then scheduled start-of-shift staff meetings for the next few shifts and emailed everyone who wasn't in his immediate line of sight. Went and ate at the Gun and Rose, paperwork on the table beside him. The place was nearly empty except for Joe, doing what looked like his accounts at a table near the window and scowling. The new waitress didn't know how Dwight liked his eggs, or how he took his coffee, and she didn't stand and chat with him like Jordan sometimes would if it was quiet. He ate quickly, and paid and tipped and went home to his silent, so silent house.

He didn't think of Lizzie. Not very much.

* * *

Jordan sent the text late and reluctantly: _Haven's newest barista. Thanks. Although it's only part time and the money sucks and now I'm going to run into Nathan all the time._.

_Ur welcome_ , came the reply from Audrey, almost immediately. _Dbl espresso, 4 sugars_.

Jordan made a face. She was walking out near the bed and breakfast, along the shoreline, finding small rocky inlets and disturbing the occasional seabird. It was quiet out at this time of day, the sun dipping into the horizon. There would have been people around earlier, maybe kids on summer vacation fishing in rock pools or riding their bikes up and down on the turf. Just filling time. 

That was kind of what Jordan was doing, too. She walked along, the beginning of an evening breeze cool on her face and neck, on the skin between her gloves and three-quarter sleeves.

She stopped at a shallow stony beach. Haven was a map made of scars; here a death, here something terrible happened, here someone's life changed forever. Garland Wuornos had died along here, she'd heard. She'd known him from the Guard, hadn't liked him, exactly, but had worked with him once. Like Vince and the others, he'd respected her enough; included her. She'd needed something, back then, when she was all alone and hurting and everyone had left her. She'd found the Guard, and Dwight wasn't entirely wrong about what it had been to her. Friends, of sorts. A connection to other people.

Jordan shook her head and walked on. She hadn't planned to walk far and her feet were starting to hurt in her high-heeled boots. Further ahead, there was a place where a man and his two children had been pulled as though by invisible hands into the sea while his Troubled wife watched. Jordan hadn't been there to see it, but afterward Nathan Wuornos had driven the woman into town, and Jordan had seen them on her way out to the diner. She hadn't known Nathan then, except by reputation, and she hadn't known the woman: never even learned her name, just the story passed down through people in the Guard like an echo. The woman had been mugged in Boston the week before, terrified for her life, and her family were old Haven, and had always been sailors and fishermen; people who lived with and by the sea. But Nathan had stepped into the station for some reason and had left the woman outside, waiting, in his truck. The door was open, the woman's feet on the ground as she sat in the truck, body twisted so she could lean forward, her head almost touching the dash. Jordan, curious, had glanced in as she walked by, and the woman had looked up and met her gaze.

It was the first time she'd seen someone else who was staring into a black hole. The woman's eyes were wide and vacant dark brown, not crying, not even red-rimmed.

Some things went beyond crying, Jordan knew that back then, when she looked at that woman and saw her looking back, across the street a thousand miles away, in an ice-covered plain, in a desert, at the bottom of the sea. She still knew it now. For some things, tears wouldn't even scratch the surface.

* * *

End of part two.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

For the most part, Dwight was satisfied with his new line of work. He was comfortable in uniform, he liked being part of a cohesive team, and he liked the people he worked with, well enough.

Haven PD was quiet in the mornings when he came in, in the lull before the changeover of shifts. Being in early worked for him: he'd gotten used to early rising years ago and never quite kicked the habit of being up before the sun. And Haven by dawn's first light was one hell of a place: first sunlight on snow in winter, cool before the heat of the day in summer, darkness breaking up into a new start every day. He carried things like that with him, little moments and memories. He'd started doing it when he started in the service, when he was lonely and kind of homesick and always tired and sore from getting his ass kicked at boot camp. He thought about home, as much as he had one: his dad's adobe house, dark and cool and hospital-corner tidy.

Dwight's father had hated clutter, and Dwight had spent most of his working life moving from place to place with a few changes of clothes and his dog tags. When he made it to Haven, he started accumulating. There was something reassuring about always having the right tool for the job, and he'd needed something solid to show Lizzie he was home for good this time, that _she_ could stop living out of a backpack too.

She'd settled in like she didn't have a care in the world though, making new friends at school straight away, playing with the neighbors' little dog, organizing her own homework and reading books all the time. The floor of her bedroom was always littered with slim paperbacks with pastel covers: stories about little girls who were best friends forever, or who had their own pony, or magic powers. He'd told her a million times to keep it tidier, but every time she cleaned it, it fell back into disarray an hour later when she was searching for a sweater or setting up mazes on the floor for her stuffed bear. She was her mother's daughter in that way; she always left chaos in her wake.

She was a good kid.

After Lizzie, Dwight had filled a box with those books and taken them to her school library. Lizzie's teacher had cried, he remembered, she'd stood in front of him and started sobbing, while he stood there, expressionless and numb holding a box full of a little girl's books. He'd been expressionless and numb a lot in the years after, and sometimes it had helped.

There was a soft buzz of noise outside in the pen. Shift change. Dwight hadn't noticed the time passing, as absorbed as he'd been with memories, cut with written forms, statements, missing persons releases, APBs. He could do other things when he was feeling bad: he'd learned that about himself years ago. He could keep working and no-one would be able to tell the difference. He could keep on going exactly the same way, minute by minute and not thinking about the future.

So it was kind of perversely funny, what he'd wanted to tell Jordan when he'd found her up on that hill on the outskirts of town. Make plans. Find something in your future to latch onto. Build yourself some hope.

He'd never been good at giving advice though. Dwight wasn't really good at making plans himself, except to tackle obstacles where they happened. That much he could deal with. Find a problem, find a solution. Someone's getting hurt, help them. The bigger picture? What to do now with the rest of his life? That, he couldn't even see.

But he knew how it worked, how people kept going in wartime or in the darkness of Haven. You had a kid and took care of her. You grew a garden. You found someone you loved and held onto them. You volunteered at a soup kitchen, or an animal shelter, or somewhere you could get out of yourself. You made things, good things, out of the shit that you were given, and bit by bit you started to get yourself back.

It was how people kept going. It was how there were still people left in Haven, since the Troubles had come back and children had died and hard rains had fallen and people had been broken in two. No one should want to keep living here. But they did. They painted their houses, they did their homework, they picked apples and salted roads and changed the oil in their cars. They kept themselves going until the rest worked itself out.

Well, most people changed the oil in their cars. Not Jordan, whose idea of car maintenance was apparently putting gas in it when the gauge hit empty.

The sounds outside his door swelled; he heard conversation and laughter. He could have closed the door, but didn't. He liked the noise and the sound of routine, so instead he left his paperwork beside the phone and went to lean against the door frame, observing.

He didn't usually like to watch over his officers' shoulders, but sometimes he had this need for connection that was partly the job: his job, to supervise and observe and learn. There was a part of it that was something else, too, but Dwight tried not to spend too much time thinking about that kind of thing.

The room was a blue crowd of uniforms; they mostly ignored him. Except Lexie, who was sitting on one of the desks drinking coffee from a paper cup and shooting the breeze with Laverne. She'd caught his eye, handed some paper to Laverne, and leaned forward and pushed off the desk.

“Morning, boss man,” she said.

“Lexie,” he said. “Everything going okay?”

“Right as rain,” she said. “You keep payin' me, I'll keep showin' up.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Look, I know this must be—difficult, for you. But we can use your help. Haven needs you.”

Her face softened for a moment and she raised a hand to her face, brushing fingertips across her cheek in a manner less irritated than, he thought, embarrassed. It was a surprise to him. Lexie had hard edges; she reminded him a little of Jordan, both of them quick to sarcasm and sharpness.

“Aw, go on,” she said finally, and there came the sarcasm. “You're making me blush.”

Dwight shrugged. “You're immune to the Troubles.”

“Yeah, well. I'll do what I can,” she allowed. “I can't guarantee being some kind of Trouble expert.”

“Wuornos will look out for you,” he said.

She grimaced.

“You two working together okay?”

“Yeah, he's such a friendly guy,” she said drily.

“He's good at his job,” Dwight said. “Maybe takes a little while to warm up to people.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “We finished with the touching moments?”

Dwight nodded, amused.

“Good. You saw the report—thingy—reports? From yesterday?”

“Yeah,” he said. He'd shuffled through the few pieces of paper earlier, stopped when he saw her name and address. “You made a B and E report last night? You all right?”

“Wasn't home,” she said dismissively, but he thought he noticed a pause.

“Scary, though,” he said mildly.

Lexie made a face. He got it. No need for sympathy, no need for anyone to look out for her. Like Jordan, again.

“I was hoping you might want to come out and take a look,” she said. “Second pair of eyes. I haven't moved anything, so you could get a feel for it, you know?”

Dwight knew. It was a cop-instincts thing he'd been picking up from the other officers; it came with experience. Cops could look at a scene and say “kids messing around” or “pro thieves looking for electronics” or “desperate junkies” at a glance, without looking any further into it, and they were almost always right.

Looking further into it was necessary, of course—he wasn't about to run any police department where instincts trumped evidence—but with experience, you learned it.

With experience, you learned a lot of things.

“Where'd you stay last night?” he asked, curious.

“In the apartment. I was just careful. Didn't touch anything.”

He thought of her, all colored hair and attitude and maybe a hundred ten pounds. Alone in a quiet, trashed apartment out of town, after dark, all night, wondering what whoever had done it had wanted, and whether they'd be back.

“Hardcore,” he commented, and thought he noticed one corner of her mouth turn up. “We should work on your firearms training.”

“Already done it,” she said, after a pause. “With Nathan.”

“Okay,” Dwight said. “Thought about getting a dog? An alarm system? Roommate?”

“Yes; movement from the Gull would set it off all the time—you know, slamming doors; I live in two rooms and do you really think it's a good idea to put someone else at risk? I'm, like, number one on your crazy Guard's most wanted list.”

“Two, I think,” Dwight said absently. “The report said you didn't notice anything missing.”

“No, but I just had a cursory look through. And it's Audrey's stuff,” she added after a moment. “There might be things I wouldn't notice.”

“We could ask Duke Crocker,” Dwight said. “He owns the place; he's probably up there more than anyone except Audrey.”

“Can we—let's--” Lexie started, and then visibly stopped herself. “Uh, yeah, maybe,” she said after a moment. “We're not gonna go through my—her--lingerie drawers, right?”

“The lingerie drawers definitely sound like your department,” Dwight reassured her.

She twisted a strand of hair around one finger. “This is kind of weird,” she said.

“Yeah,” Dwight said. “Haven's kind of weird.”

Lexie laughed, finally, kind of bitterly. “That, sir, is the understatement of the century. C'mon,” she said, taking a few steps to the door and looking over her shoulder at him, still in place. “Let's go take a look.”

“You don't want to wait for your partner?”

“He'll catch up,” she said. “He always does.”

Dwight shrugged, and fished his keys out of his pocket.

* * *

“So,” he said to her on the drive. “Dog?”

She sighed audibly. “I thought about it. A rescue dog. Like—like you'd get from a shelter, I guess. Something that needs a home, same as me. I mean—I don't need a home, I'd rather keep moving, but you know what I mean.”

“It sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah, it's not,” she said. “I can't look after a dog. I can't look after anything. With all of this end-of-the-world you-are-the-chosen-one bullshit, I can't do anything permanent. What happens next week? Next month? Next time a—a sea monster attacks the waterfront?”

“You heard about those,” Dwight said slowly.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Funny how no-one in Haven will tell you anything about the divine prophecy coming right for you, but they just _love_ talking about how a giant fish nearly bit their arm off.”

“Mary Beth Chin's coffee shop has sea monster artwork, you know. You can get a cup of coffee and an accurate sketch of a terrifying beast from the depths to hang on your wall in one place.”

“I saw,” Lexie said darkly. “It seems kind of out of keeping with Haven's 'low profile' philosophy.”

Dwight shrugged. “Tourists think it's eccentric. Locals mostly ignore it, I think.”

Lexie humphed. “Still think it's pretty tasteless. Too soon.”

“People deal with things here in their own way. Mary Beth's father—he must have been eighty? Eighty five?--was killed in a house fire that started in the meteor storm.”

“Oh,” Lexie said quietly.

“He wasn't very mobile,” Dwight said. “He had a walking frame, real bad arthritis in his knees. He wouldn't have been able to get up quickly or run out of the house.”

“Oh,” Lexie said again. “I--had no idea. I got coffee there this morning.”

“It's Haven,” Dwight said.

* * *

When they pulled into the Gull's parking lot, Nathan's truck was there already.

“He beat us out here,” Dwight commented.

“He listens to the police band radio at night,” Lexie said. “Damn it.” She straightened, looked at Dwight. “I mean, that must be it.”

“Would make sense I guess, although it's not much of a way to spend a night.”

Lexie glanced at him again. “What were you doing last night?”

“Fair point,” Dwight said, and opened his door.

Nathan was waiting inside the Gull. He had a notepad out on the table in front of him. The room was otherwise empty, chairs still on the other tables, floor littered with debris. Dwight looked around for Duke, but only saw Wade, drying glasses behind the bar with a sour expression.

“Crocker,” Dwight greeted him neutrally.

Wade sneered. “I think I've answered enough questions already.”

Dwight stilled. “I didn't ask any yet.”

“Well, your boy's been here,” he gestured to Nathan with the glass he was drying. “Won't leave me alone. I told Duke not to report it. This is a waste of time.”

“It wasn't Duke's call,” Lexie said from behind Dwight. Her voice was cooler than he'd heard it before. “It's my apartment.”

“That he owns,” Wade said. “That isn't insured as a living space. This is just asking for trouble.”

“There's no trouble,” Dwight said. “We're just going to take a look. Gather some evidence, maybe catch whoever broke in. You see anything? Hear anything last night? Lexie said it would have been before close.”

“It's noisy in here before close,” Wade said sharply. “Wouldn't have heard anything even if there was something to hear.”

Dwight sighed inwardly, counted to five in his head. “Well then,” he said, evenly. “It shouldn't take us long to take your statement, and then we can look at the apartment and leave you to your day. Detective Wuornos, you got anything for us?”

Nathan rose. “Wade Crocker's statement so far is that he heard nothing, saw nothing, and thinks the Haven police force is paid too well.”

Dwight bit back a smile. “Well, if you don't have anything to add, Crocker, we'll go on up. Won't need to bother you with any more details.”

He saw a ripple of anger break across Wade Crocker's face, saw the grip he had on the glass tighten. Then it was gone, in less than a heartbeat, and the man was smiling. It looked a little bit forced, but his hand had relaxed, his shoulders dropped.

“Nothing to add,” he said. “I've got a lot to do, if you don't mind me leaving you all alone.”

“No,” said Lexie slowly. “Um, I think we can probably manage.”

Wade smiled again, quickly enough that it almost looked like a snarl. When he moved to put the glass back with the others, though, his movements were slow and calm.

* * *

Dwight followed the others outside. The day was starting to heat up early and the birds had quieted. He didn't mind heat, but Haven's summers were long and sticky and full of black flies.

Wuornos and Lexie turned left once outside the door and went up the staircase that led to the upstairs apartment. Dwight hung back a little, observing them and the area. Nothing look disturbed on the stairs or around the parking lot. He couldn't see the dock from where he stood, but could hear the faint sounds of the water.

Nathan glanced back down toward Dwight when he reached the top of the stairs, and then he and Lexie walked forward, heading toward the door. Dwight noticed how far he'd fallen behind, and had taken a few steps up when he heard the door open behind him.

“Hey, chief,” Wade said.

Dwight turned and waited. Waved to the others to go on. Nathan went without hesitation; Lexie stopped in the doorway, looked back, and then stepped through.

“You know Jordan McKee, right?” There was a challenge, a hint of aggression to his words. 

Dwight paused; considered. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, evenly. “I know Jordan.”

“She was supposed to meet me out here a few days ago. Never showed.”

“A lady doesn't show up for a meeting, there's probably a good reason. Let it go.”

Something flashed in Wade's eyes then, too-wide, too-intense. It was gone before Dwight could get a read on it, and Wade ducked his head, suddenly deferential. “Oh, of course,” he said. “I just meant dropping out of sight in a place like Haven? Might not always be a good thing.”

Dwight searched the other man's face. There was nothing there, in the expression, but his eyes were different. Too calculating, Dwight thought, like a shark.

And stopped himself. There was nothing here. Wade was a bartender who'd missed out on seeing a friend. The guy might be kind of a jerk, but there was no overreaching conspiracy here. Maybe Dwight had been in Haven too long, and was now seeing sociopaths everywhere he looked.

Maybe he'd been in the police force too long, and couldn't see any good in anyone anymore.

He shook the thought off. It was ridiculous. He didn't like the guy, that was it. Sometimes people just didn't get along. He obviously rubbed Wade Crocker the wrong way, and the guy was doing the same to him.

Jordan had got along with him, though. Jordan and Wade seemed to have gotten real close, real fast.

She'd been talking to him about the Troubles, he remembered her saying. Dwight had immediately thought it was a bad idea, but Jordan saw these things differently. Jordan was always on the side of the Troubled, the fiercest damn advocate Dwight had ever seen. She'd known about the Crocker family Trouble, and she'd probably thought Wade deserved to know too. To prepare. Accept. She hadn't had any chance to prepare, herself, when her Trouble had showed up.

“She's not out of sight,” he said finally. “She's fine.”

“Huh,” Wade said. “Well, tell her I'm looking for her.”

_Stay away from her_ was what instantly came to Dwight's mind. Jordan didn't need someone like this in her life, this too-changeable cold-eyed walking Trouble. But _stay away_ was all at once not quite what he meant and too much and not enough.

And none of his business, of course. Sometimes the guys in the Guard had been protective of her, after they'd seen how gentle she was with kids and new Troubled, like she was a little sister, someone they had to shield from hurt. It never seemed to end well. Jordan was incapable of accepting help: suspicious, prickly as hell, and goal-oriented to the point of tunnel vision. He'd seen her cut down a Guard member who'd just walked through a door ahead of her without checking with her first, once, and she'd about torn him a new asshole, using language that would have done any of Dwight's C.O.s proud.

Dwight had thought it was pretty funny at the time, especially seeing the guy's cowed face any time he'd had to go near Jordan for the next few days.

But he didn't need an ass-reaming himself to know that she didn't want his protection, didn't look for it or need it. He and Jordan didn't work like that, and if she'd known he was warning some guy away from her?

Well, he wasn't scared of the ass-reaming, but there were other things that could be scary, too.

* * *

So Dwight's first thought wasn't “bored kids” or “professional thieves”: he didn't have an immediate feel. There was a roll-topped desk at an odd angle to the wall, hutch lock splintered, drawers agape. Papers littered it and the floor around it. The overstuffed couch had been slashed, long vertical slices. Two chairs were overturned, and there was another long gouge in the hardwood of a round dining table. A piano covered in shreds of some unidentified fabric.

It would sand out, he found himself thinking, but would ruin the finish. The fabrics, he didn't know. White drapes were shredded in strips. You could sew cloth back together but you couldn't make it whole again, and these looked wrecked beyond repair.

Lexie stood to one side, frustration evident on her face. Wuornos, in silicon gloves, was sifting through an open closet, tension in the line of his shoulders.

“We can dust for prints,” he said, but doubtfully.

Lexie shook her head. “No point. I don't even know who's been up here recently. Jennifer was staying here after Audrey—left. Duke's been looking in on the place. I don't even know.”

“We could narrow it down,” Nathan said.

“For a B&E?” Lexie asked him, then glanced at Dwight. “See, I'm even starting to sound like you guys. Is fingerprinting a burglary scene really standard procedure?” She pronounced the last word slowly, exaggeratedly.

“Run it,” Dwight said, more to Nathan. “Something might turn up.”

Nathan nodded, and turned his attention to a set of drawers near the bed.

“Go through that first drawer and you will wish you'd never been born,” Lexie said crisply.

Nathan moved his hand down, opened the second drawer instead.

Dwight hid a grin, and reached into his pocket for disposable gloves. “Door wasn't damaged?” he asked Lexie. He'd noticed it on his way in, it was a fragile, light wood with four windows and a lock that wouldn't keep out a determined raccoon, let alone a burglar. He preferred a solid door, himself. Steel, maybe.

“It was open when I came up. But no, it's not damaged. Picked the lock, I guess.”

“Maybe they came in through the window,” Dwight wondered, crossing over behind the desk. “And then they went out through the door?”

“None of them were open when I got here,” she said. “They stick sometimes, so they're hard to close once they're opened. I usually leave them closed, except when it's really hot.”

“Kitchen?” he asked, nodding toward that section of the room. He stepped towards the cabinets standing open and put a gloved hand on one of the doors half off its hinges. Inside them was disarray. He could see smashed mugs and plates, utensils that had been swept to the floor. Someone had been mad. “Is anything missing?”

Lexie followed him, her running shoes crunching across broken glass on the floor.

“Watch the glass,” Dwight said. “Once we get prints, we can start clearing up.”

She looked into the kitchen cabinets slowly, one by one. “Can't see anything missing,” she said finally. “It's kind of hard to tell, with everything being in a million pieces.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Anyone got a grudge against you?”

He realized the futility of the question after he'd asked it. This wasn't exactly a normal situation. Lexie was new to town, maybe, but everyone in town knew her, and knew her as Audrey. And Audrey had enemies that Lexie probably didn't even know about, let alone comprehend.

Dwight probably knew more about her life than she did. It was depressing, if he thought about it. She'd been dropped in at the deep end here without preparation, the memories and the knowledge and the skills she'd had as Audrey to protect herself and protect others gone.

Must have been tough, he thought, that realization for her. Haven could be like that: throwing everything at you, seeing if you'd break.

She didn't seem like the breaking type, though, or maybe he was just projecting Audrey onto her.

She laughed shortly. “The Guard? Mysterious shadowed figures? Weird supernatural dudes? I don't know, everyone? Everyone in town knows Audrey, but I don't know any of them. They all know where I live, though.”

Dwight frowned. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She waved her hand in a no-big-deal gesture, and leaned down. She carefully pushed some broken plates sideways out of the cabinet, and they fell to the floor with a clatter. Across the room, Wuornos looked up curiously, then, after a moment, went back to what he'd been doing.

Lexie peered into the cabinet. “There's a few that aren't broken. I guess mismatched is going to be the order of the day.”

Dwight stepped backward and back into the open part of the room. The desk caught his eye again. There were books scattered on the floor around it, some of them with ripped covers.

He looked up at Lexie, who was still sorting dispiritedly through the kitchen.

“Anything missing here?” he asked. “There's a lot of papers thrown around.”

“Yeah, I don't know what that's about,” she said, distracted. “It's just invoices, bank statements. Boring stuff.”

There was nothing left in the open drawers, though, Dwight thought. They'd been through everything, and the papers were scattered, not even ripped, just like they'd been sifted through and then thrown down.

“Someone was looking for something,” he said.

“Yeah,” Lexie said, suddenly beside him and loud. 

He blinked. He hadn't even noticed he'd spoken out loud.

“I thought that too,” she said. “I don't know what they were looking for. There's nothing of any value in there.”

“Might explain all the damage,” Dwight said. “If they were looking for something specific, couldn't find it. Got mad and trashed the place.”

Nathan, across the room, rolled a drawer back into its place and straightened up. He cleared his throat. “It would also look more like a simple vandalism case. So we might attribute it to kids, or drunks, just busting the place up.”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “The drunks don't come up here, they usually serve them downstairs.”

“I'm just saying,” Nathan said. “It looks like whoever broke in here went through the place, then started smashing plates. Looking for money, or--”

“Or something else,” Lexie said.

“Any knives missing?” Dwight asked.

Lexie shrugged. “I don't cook much.”

Dwight pointed at the table. “Could have done that with scissors, maybe. Or he brought his own knife.”

“Comforter from the bed looks like knife marks,” Nathan agreed, pointing at it. It was heaped on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Sharp pocket knife, probably.”

Lexie looked at it, but didn't say anything.

“Giving any more thought to an alarm system?” Dwight asked gently.

She blew out a breath. “Actually, I've been giving some thought to finding somewhere else to live.”

“Really?” Nathan asked.

She shot him a look Dwight couldn't read. “Yes, really. It's not—fully my place, after all. And I don't know, maybe I've spent enough time living above bars for a while. I could use someplace a little more secure. Either of you guys know a good realtor?”

Nathan just stared at her.

Dwight waited, then answered himself when it was obvious Nathan wasn't going to. “There's not that many to choose from,” he warned her. “But Brad at My Blue Haven seems pretty solid. He was at the business owner's meeting this week. Friendly guy, drinks a lot of coffee.”

“Hey, one of us,” Lexie said with an attempt at a smile.

* * *

It wore on Dwight, for the rest of the day. The damage to the apartment had been deliberate, destroying just to destroy. Something about it nagged at him: the slicing of fabric, the straight-line gouges. It was almost...careful.

Like someone needed it to look like vandalism.

So what had they really been after? Nothing obvious had been missing, according to Lexie.

The papers, he thought. Kept going back to them in his mind. Something Audrey had, or someone thought she had, written down. He went over and over it in his mind, couldn't think of anything anyone could want from Audrey that didn't have to do with the Troubles or the Guard. Wuornos would know better than Dwight did. Dwight shot him a text message, asking if he could think of anything Audrey might have had, any records she could have kept.

It had to come back to Audrey, and of course there was no way to ask her.

He got a reply back from Nathan, though, and it was pretty decisively sure that Audrey didn't have anything on paper about the Troubles. A little too decisive, maybe, Dwight thought. He didn't know exactly how close Audrey and Nathan had been—it was none of his business, either—but the man hadn't hesitated to answer for her on this.

That nagged at Dwight, too. There was something going on he didn't understand, and he'd just have to keep working away at it in his mind until it made some kind of sense.

He'd always liked having things in order. Maybe he'd been too rough on Lizzie when she was little, with her little-kid messes. Maybe he'd been too tough on her mom, who'd had messes of her own, although mostly the grown-up kind, that couldn't be tidied away in a toy box.

He'd be kinder, now, if he had a chance to do it all again. He'd never come in tired and disconnected when he got back from leave, rocking baby Liz to sleep with more frustration than joy. At the time he'd been bothered that he was the one who had to fix things, who had to look after the baby and make sure the house was set up so everything would run smoothly in his absences.

Now, sometimes he ached when he thought about what he'd lost. Early-morning feedings with Lizzie in his arms; later, her toddling wildly around the kitchen in base housing; later, her watching cartoons or talking about animals to him. He'd spent the time with her, and mostly liked it, but so much of it had been twisted by an undercurrent of resentment, of his desire to be somewhere else: out in the sand with his guys, part of a team.

He'd already been a part of a team, although he hadn't fully realized it. If he could do it all again, this time around he'd be there with her every minute.

* * *

You don't get second chances, though, he thought, and not without some bitterness. You made your choices and you moved the hell on. Well, you mostly moved on. Sometimes you had summer mornings where everything reminded you of the past, and you walked around with old memories and regret pulling at your bones.

He was still feeling the pull when he got another call from base. He cut off Laverne after hearing the name of the complainant and the address, and spun his truck in a u-turn so sharp he left a disgruntled driver behind him.

“Like I was saying,” Vince was telling Stan when Dwight arrived. “It's not like I come over and check the place every day. I don't know when it could have happened.” He grimaced at Dwight, instead of a more conventional greeting.

Dwight looked past the two of them, through the door into the apartment. Jordan had rented the apartment furnished, and it had always struck him as interior decoration by realtors who wanted to make the place habitable without giving it any character. Floorboards, beige walls, an elderly plain-blue couch that was now leaking stuffing through slits in the fabric.

He walked in without a word; barely heard Stan or Vince speak to him. He just took in the room: the long slices in the couch; the curtains shredded lengthways; scratched wood on the side table Jordan had had a vase of flowers on sometimes, when he'd been there.

“Same guy,” he muttered, and when Stan raised his eyebrows, just shook his head and walked through to check the other rooms.

The kitchen was torn apart; worse than Audrey's place, worse by a long way. The window was smashed—he remembered Jordan catching morning sun through it, leaning against the cabinets waiting for water to boil for coffee, when he'd come to pick her up one time. Now light fell in lines and cracks, like patchwork. The cabinets, made of light wood and laminate, had broken doors and in one place were torn from the wall where they'd sat. The walls were grazed with lines.

Dwight stood and looked at it all, and started to feel a little unnerved.

“Same guy, getting madder,” he said to Stan.

Stan looked at him uneasily, and stepped aside for him to walk through to the other rooms.

* * *

The apartment was empty, though, except for the bare-bones furniture, so there wasn't the trail of broken items like there had been at Audrey's. Which was something, Dwight supposed, although even if Jordan had still been here, she'd never had much in the way of possessions. He'd never seen so much as a painting on the wall or a book on a table: it was always as though she'd just moved in, or was just about to leave, although she'd lived in the apartment as long as he'd known her. Maybe that severe existence wasn't the healthiest way to be, he'd found himself thinking once or twice.

Then again, maybe he wasn't in any position to judge.

He checked the bedroom—empty, except for streaming light through more ripped curtains, and a printed floor rug kicked up in one corner. Something caught Dwight's eye in the stripes of light, and he pushed the rug back to investigate.

It was a small framed photograph, square and white-bordered, surface stippled and colors too bright. From within it, a gray-haired couple smiled out, and beside them, a solemn-faced dark-haired girl held a pink stuffed bear, one paw held out in her hand to wave at the camera.

Dwight studied her features. Jordan. Smaller and pigtailed, but unquestionably her: eyes calm and somehow too old for her child's face, which was sharper-featured than now and angular.

He'd never thought about her having a family. Which was crazy, when he thought about it now-- _everyone_ had had a family of some sort, once upon a time, somewhere.

He heard footsteps in the room behind him and half-turned. Vince and Stan had followed him in.

“You think there's anything missing?” Dwight asked Vince.

“Everything seems to be accounted for,” Vince said, frowning. “Destroyed, but accounted for.”

“Anyone have a grudge against you?” Stan asked him.

Vince raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn't answer, but he glanced over at Dwight.

Dwight inclined his head noncommittally. He knew what the look meant. There were people in town who had problems with Vince—members of the Guard, Dwight thought, were probably at the top of the list. The Guard had been struggling lately, pulling itself apart from within with infighting, with the stress of the town since the meteor storm, with the inevitable Haven deaths and tragedies that wore everyone down, over time.

And then there was Jordan. Dwight knew she'd had some kind of altercation with Vince before she'd decided to leave town. She probably thought he didn't know about it, but Dwight was pretty good at reading situations, and he noticed things.

He noticed Vince looking over at the photo still in his hand now, and it angled it toward him so Vince could see it more clearly in the light.

“Jordan's,” Vince said.

Stan grabbed a notebook from his back pocket and flipped the cover over. “Jordan?” he asked. “McKee?”

Dwight held up a cautionary hand. “It's her place,” he said. “Or was. She must have left this behind when she moved out.”

Stan looked torn. He'd uncapped a pen and looked desperate to make notes. He looked to Vince.

Vince shook his head. “He's right,” he said. “And--” he paused, as though giving the matter some thought. “Jordan wouldn't do something like this. Not exactly her style.”

“It would take a lot of strength to to bust those doors in the kitchen, too,” Dwight observed, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I'd be more inclined to think we're looking for a guy. An angry guy,” he added, as Stan visibly deflated, and recapped his pen. “I want Wuornos to take a look at the place before you close up,” Dwight added.

Stan looked dubious; glanced at Vince and then back to Dwight. “His ex's--” he started.

“Call him,” Dwight said crisply, and put the photo into the pocket of his shirt.

* * *

Dwight avoided the waiting around and went back to the station after exchanging a few words with Vince. He ascertained that none of the apartment's neighbors had heard anything—two of the surrounding apartments were unoccupied, one held a couple of student-slash-party-animals who were up for the summer to help on fishing boats, get tans, and drink themselves stupid every night, and the fourth was the residence of an elderly couple who, if the volume of their TV was any indication, might not have heard a couple of rampaging elephants if they'd broken in next door.

He went through the day in his head when he got back to his desk. The break-ins definitely looked connected to him—Nathan and Lexie had agreed, after they'd seen Jordan's apartment. They'd sifted through the place themselves, but didn't have any further ideas on who might have done it. Or if they did, they weren't telling Dwight. He never fooled himself into thinking people would tell him everything, and Nathan was private and kind of a loner. Lexie, he didn't know. If she was like Audrey, she was someone he could trust, but she was so new. It had always taken Dwight a while to get used to people, until he felt comfortable with them.

He went to text Jordan from his desk, then thought better of it and picked up his keys again. He was a small-town police chief; small-town police chiefs were expected to spend time out in the community. He'd just spend a little time, that was all.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Part four.

* * *

_Light bounced off the trees; unnatural, neon green. The houses were blinding, multicolored. Jordan felt sick with it; overloaded. The air was still as death (hadn't there been a breeze? She remembered the smell of salt in the air)._

_“Lance,” she said. “Stop. Wait.”_

_(It hadn't gone like this. She had run out of the car, heart thick in her throat. Lance had dropped the kid on her feet; she'd been screaming at him. Jordan couldn't make out the words, just the rise and fall of the little voice, sharp with fury and fear. )_

_It was roaring now, the sound of the sea. Sunlight on asphalt, wavering. Red and white gardenias in bloom over the fence, heavy-scented, overwhelming, tropical, and underneath, something musty and rotting._

_Jordan was standing, watching him (it hadn't happened like this. She'd been running after the girl, furious and confused. She'd spun around when she heard him talking._

_“I hate my guts.”_

_He'd dropped to his knees, raising his knife high above his head)._

_Ginger's toy bunny lay on the side of the road, leaning up against some rocks, staring at them with black-button eyes._

_(Jordan had cradled Lance's head as he sank to the ground.)_

_Blood soaked through his shirt._

_(She'd put pressure on the wound, feeling his blood soak into her gloves. It reached her skin, warm and wet and somehow thick with cells and color and salts, heavier than water, heavier than everything. The liquid conducted sensation; she could feel the ridges in his knit shirt beneath her fingertips. Jordan resisted the urge to tear the gloves from her hands, and pressed down hard on the wound instead.)_

_“No, hold on,” she heard her own voice say, but he was flat on his back in the middle of the road, staring up at the sky, his hands wrapped around his knife and pushing it further, further in._

_(She'd pulled at his hands even as he kept driving it into his own stomach, as he kept changing his angle, his breath coming in long gasps and long pauses. Her gloves were slippery with his blood and he was still holding the knife, still pushing it into himself, and she was afraid he was going to cut her so she let go.)_

_And the blood spread around him like a pool in the street, red-black on the asphalt. Jordan heard someone keening, high pitched like a dog, and realized it was her._

* * *

She woke hard and came out of sleep fast, scrambling off the bed in a trail of white cotton sheet, in some instinctive animal need to be closer to the ground. Her ragged breathing filled her ears, uncomfortably similar to Lance's dying rattles in her dream, and she scrubbed her hands against the binding sheet, desperate to get the heavy feeling off her hands, feeling the fabric wrap around her and causing her to panic more.

It was hard to guess how long she stayed like that, later—five minutes? Ten?--but when it passed, it was like waking up all over again, going to another state. Her breathing slowed, eventually, into longer, drawn-out gulps for oxygen. Her vision lightened and she recognized where she was. She kept her forehead to the ground, staring only at the pale blue expanse of rug beneath her.

She got herself up, slowly, eventually, moving stiffly as an old woman. Jordan had had bad dreams before, but lately they had been taking on a whole new dimension: glaringly vivid; pulsing. She'd dreamed of Grady one night: charred and blackened, the smell of decomposition under burnt acridity she could still taste in the back of her throat when she woke up. Jordan had heard that you didn't have a sense of smell in dreams, but these dreams were something else, a barrage of senses. Another night she'd dreamed of the night she was attacked, awoke filled with the self-loathing and disgust she'd felt right after. She'd run out of hot water in her little apartment showering, and been so late for work she'd called Joe and told him she wasn't coming in. And she'd dreamed of being out at the barn, that dream over and over again, sky in rainbow swirls that had never happened, and the two bolts of sound and pain that had. 

That dream, she woke up from gasping for breath, clawing at her chest.

Every time she thought she was getting used to them, she got shocked back to feeling again. Tonight, it had been Lance, who'd been a pretty good guy, nothing special, nothing extraordinary, just someone she knew.

In Haven you saw nothing-special people slice themselves open in front of you, and in a few months you'd just about forgotten them, like it had never happened. In Jordan's own defense, she'd had a lot going on those few months, including the tearing apart of her own viscera that she tried not to remember too well, but she was ashamed anyway.

Lately things were running faster. Jordan had seen people get hurt before: Haven wasn't for the faint-hearted, but before she'd had time to process, time to help and feel useful. Now, everything ran into one, bright-colored and deathly, and there was no time to help, no time to grieve. 

It was out of control. _She_ was out of control; panicked and sweaty and still terrified.

Jordan took another deep breath, and went to get ready for work.

* * *

Routine soothed her, and so did the steady babble of customers. She saw some of the same people who came into the Gun and Rose. Haven was small enough that she knew most people, or knew of them, although it was an enclosed, standoffish kind of town a lot of the time. You had to live there a long time to get accepted. There was a fast track to that, of course, but it involved being Troubled, and then being accepted more as a matter of duty and necessity than because people wanted you to be a part of things.

She sighed. Maybe she was too cynical. But it was hard to feel at home any more in a place that kept pushing you away. With _people_ that kept pushing you away. Jordan kept getting divided out and left alone, no matter what she did. It had started when her Trouble did: there was an isolation to those memories that was unlike anything she could remember feeling before. She'd been divided out from the rest of the town by that-- _pig_ , then she'd been divided out from the rest of the world.

She'd developed her own kind of coping mechanisms, but she'd never really come back from it: never really became again the Jordan she'd been before. She'd named her coping mechanisms in a therapy session with Doctor Callahan, which had turned out to be a mistake. Jordan had ended up paying the price for letting someone in, for letting someone know what she was thinking. 

If she'd had more time, she could have killed him eventually. Slowly, painfully, the way he deserved to go. She felt guilt and shame any time she touched anyone, any time she saw their faces when they realized the horror that was in her skin. But she didn't feel a damn thing when she thought about him. She hadn't then, when she'd had her hands around his throat, hearing his muffled moans of pain, getting weaker and weaker. She didn't now, when she thought about him, still frozen in muscle-damaged coma in a long-term care hospital.

There would have been other girls like her. Before her. Girls whose skin didn't turn to electrical wires and red-hot currents. Girls who were small and soft and had cowered and cried. Jordan had done that, herself, hoping for someone to come help her, hoping for him to reconsider, for some out-of-the-blue merciful miracle that would save her. But then she'd become something else.

And now there wouldn't be any more girls, like her or otherwise, for him. He wouldn't hear another Jordan whimper, bargain, beg, and finally go silent. She didn't have to wait for miracles. She'd brought down the wrath for herself.

She was getting too introspective. She was circling round and round the same pain, and not getting anywhere. Which was why these frozen panicky moments she'd been having were so frustrating—how was she supposed to keep going, to move, to change, when she kept getting caught up in old memories, told over and over in her mind in color and shrieking noise? She rubbed a gloved hand over her shoulder, feeling the sewn lines of her shirt and, underneath, the raised skin of her scar.

It pulled, sometimes, when she moved fast or reached too far. She didn't even like to contemplate carrying a shotgun like she'd used to, or anything where she had to move fast and sharp. She'd been tired, worn down as hell while she was recuperating, and constantly in pain and the kind of nauseating panic that was now becoming familiar, although it didn't seem to ease off.

She couldn't stop being scared about damn near everything. She'd thought focusing on a goal would help: had thrown herself into figuring out more about the Troubles and how to end them. She'd tried working her way into Dwight's investigations and getting more information through the Guard. It had helped while she'd had something to do, but every time she stopped things got worse.

She'd been worse when she stopped picking up her shifts at the G and R; much worse when she'd spent time staring at the walls of her apartment or driving around town, trying to figure out what to do. Jordan knew she could fix this: the Troubles, the holes in her own armor, her scrabbling hold on life, if she could just find the right way, if someone would just show her the way.

She rubbed at her scar again, the familiarity of it almost comforting, but dropped her hand by her side when she saw Dwight and Audrey walk into the store.

It was a little bit of a surprise to see them together: they worked together, but Dwight took a while to warm up to people (Jordan could testify to that, since she'd known him for years and still felt like she didn't know him at all), and she'd mostly seen Audrey in Nathan's protective company.

It was a relief not to see Nathan here now, even though she'd told herself they were grown-ups and if Jordan couldn't leave town and get the hell away from everyone, she could at least be civil in the meantime. She'd been sad enough over him now, grieved for the loss of a friend and a touch for long enough. Too long. It was time to let him go.

Intellectually, she knew that and could accept it. But she was still glad not to see him with Dwight and Audrey.

Jordan studied them for a moment, surreptitiously, while she was making someone else's coffee. 

Audrey, streaked brown-and-blonde hair in waves down her back, was examining the artwork Mary Beth had up around the front of the store. They were pretty weird, Jordan was willing to admit. There were a couple of watercolors of local beaches interspersed with photo-realistic depictions of huge sea snakes, curving around the Haven docks, snarling mouths wide; swirling seas behind them, intricately rendered in swirls and waves of pencil lines.

“They're for sale,” Mary Beth helpfully pointed out from the counter.

Audrey turned, pulled out of her reverie. “They're amazing,” she said. “I mean, unusual?”

Mary Beth nodded. “Unusual subject choice, that's what everyone says. I think that's a compliment.”

“Who's the artist?”

“I am,” Mary Beth said. She pushed a lock of short gray hair back from her forehead, her expression pleased. Jordan didn't know her well—even in a town the size of Haven, sometimes people's paths just didn't cross—but so far she seemed a fair boss, if a little bit eccentric. Jordan could deal with that--she'd worked for Joe at the Gun and Rose for years, after all, and he'd brought eccentricity to a whole new level.

She had been so busy listening in on their conversation that she wasn't paying attention to what she was doing, and while she slipped a new cup under the spigot on the espresso machine she bumped the metal part with the bare side of her wrist, and she flinched, feeling the skin there heat and burn.

“Ow, fuck.”

Mary Beth was beside her quickly, although she left enough room between the two of them for caution. She looked over at Jordan's wrist. The skin was turning red, but it was a tiny mark, wouldn't even blister.

“Okay,” Mary Beth said, and Jordan wasn't sure which one of them she was talking to, but she went back to the front counter, tapping a glass jar next to the till as she went.

“Fifty cents, Jordan,” she said.

Jordan saw Audrey squint at the jar, which had a hand-printed label on it saying “CURSE JAR”.

“Run me a tab,” Jordan said. “I'll have to fix it up later.”

Mary Beth shook her head. “Well, don't forget.”

Audrey said: “You have to pay to swear? I'd be broke in a day.”

“Customers, too,” Jordan warned her, and pushed a couple of cups back into the rack. “What can I get for you?”

“Double espresso,” said Audrey.

Jordan hesitated before she turned to make the coffee. “Four sugars was a joke, right?”

“Nope,” Audrey said, stretching her arms across the counter. “Lay it on me, barkeep.”

“Dwight?” Jordan called to him. He was talking to Mary Beth, but their body language was relaxed, so this wasn't an official call. Audrey ordering coffee should have suggested it wasn't, but it seemed like in Lexie's guise, Audrey was able to be someone who didn't have a lot of respect for social norms.

Jordan was okay with that, too. Social norms could be kind of overrated.

Dwight looked over at them. 

“Coffee?” she asked, pointing to the row of ceramic cups beside her.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a step backward from Mary Beth. “Usual. Please. Got any pie?”

Jordan shook her head. “No pie.” She took a step away from the coffee machine, toward the front counter, where she pushed a few paper fliers off the top of the display case. “Cake,” she said, pointing. “Or cheesecake.”

“Cheesecake's practically pie,” Audrey said helpfully.

Dwight shook his head sorrowfully. “It's not the same.”

Jordan, pouring coffee, said: “If you want to sit, I can bring these out to you.”

Dwight hesitated. “Actually, we were hoping to steal you for a few minutes. Mary Beth?”

Mary Beth glanced at them, then waved a hand. “Go ahead. She's about due for a break, anyway.”

Jordan handed Dwight his coffee and stepped out from behind the machine. Audrey was already heading for one of the small tables Jordan had cleared after the last rush.

“And I get to spend that break helping the police with their inquiries,” Jordan said sarcastically, pulling out a chair for herself. “Lucky me.”

Dwight ignored her grumbling, pulled out a chair for himself and sat. “It's about your apartment.”

“I don't have an apartment,” said Jordan.

Audrey sighed. “Your old place,” she said, clearly with the intention to move this conversation along. “It was broken into. My apartment, too.”

Jordan paused. “There's nothing to steal,” she said finally. “Except Vince's furniture, which was there as long as I was, and no-one's going to make very much from that ugly couch.”

“I don't think they took anything.”

Jordan furrowed her brow. “Vandalism, then. Weird that they'd hit two apartments, but maybe they were bored.”

“I think there's more to it than that,” Dwight said.

“What?” Jordan asked. “What do you think it is?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “It's just strange.”

Jordan considered. “Welcome to Haven,” she said. “You need me for anything, or were you just letting me know?” She pushed back her chair.

Dwight hesitated. “Actually wanted to know where you were last night.”

“Oh,” said Jordan. “I see.”

Dwight went on. “We know you have a—history--with Audrey Parker. It's her place, really, her things. And Vince—it's Vince's apartment.”

Jordan sat still. The coffee cups were sitting on the table, ignored.

“It's not like that,” Audrey said, putting a hand on the table between them and catching Dwight's eye, “It's _not_. We're looking for a link.”

“I was at the bed and breakfast,” Jordan said coolly. “I was in my room, there was no-one with me, and I have no way of proving I didn't do it, and damn you both.” She pushed her chair the rest of the way back and rose.

“Fifty cents, Jordan,” said Mary Beth, from behind the counter.

Jordan was about to suggest something Mary Beth could do with fifty cents, when she felt Audrey's hand on her arm. It was between her gloves and her sleeves, on bare skin, and she was surprised enough that she didn't flinch.

“Please,” Audrey said. “Just hear us out.”

Jordan's Achilles' heel had always been a soft request. She could easily deal if people got mad at her, if they got riled up or frustrated. But she found it hard to refuse someone who gently, quietly, asked her. She paused and glanced at Dwight.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he offered.

Jordan sighed. “Yeah, you did. You're the police. You have to investigate.”

“You're not a suspect,” Audrey said, still softly. “We were just hoping you could shed some light on it. Anyone have a grudge against you? Anyone who didn't know you were moving out?”

“I didn't tell people I was leaving,” Jordan said. “I was just going to go. It seemed simpler.”

Dwight nodded. “Yeah, if I hadn't caught up with you, I wouldn't have even known you were going.”

She met his eyes. “It seemed simpler,” she said again.

“Anyone mad at you?” Audrey prodded.

“Vince,” Jordan admitted. “I guess. Nathan.”

Audrey looked surprised. “I don't think he--”

“I did shoot him,” Jordan said evenly.

“He doesn't—” Audrey stopped herself and looked over at Dwight, who was watching her curiously. “Yeah, I don't know. He's a detective and all--” she trailed off lamely. “Doesn't seem like him.” She glanced at Dwight again, still watching her. “I mean, you know, that I can see.”

Jordan thought she probably needed to rescue her, because although defending Nathan was not high on her list of priorities, she didn't have any grudge against Audrey. She'd tried to hold onto a grudge, but it kept on falling apart when she saw Audrey doing something for the town, being kind, looking out for the Troubled. There were—problems, with her methods, but she was trying. Jordan could relate to that herself.

“I don't think he's the break and enter type,” she said quietly, and Audrey shot her a look of relief.

“Okay,” Dwight said dubiously. “Glad we got that sorted out. Anyone else on your list?”

“I owe you money,” Jordan said, sitting back down. “Maybe you got mad at me.”

“Jordan,” he said. “Seriously.”

She breathed out a frustrated sigh. “I don't know. I don't exactly have a fan club, but I don't know anyone who'd want to break into my apartment. What would they even want?”

Dwight looked pensive. “I wondered that too. It seems like the same M.O. on your place and Lexie's.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow at Audrey. 

“Modus operandi,” Audrey translated. “Method. You don't watch cop shows?”

She shook her head, looked at Dwight. “What do you mean?”

In answer, he pulled out his phone and swiped it on, then pressed the screen a few times. Glancing at Audrey first, he handed it to Jordan.

There was a picture of the interior of Audrey's apartment on the screen, vandalized to a hell of a mess. Jordan studied it, glanced up at Dwight, then swiped the screen to see the next photo. She scrolled through the other photos one by one.

“Lot of damage,” she said eventually.

“You never saw those,” Dwight said, reaching to take back his phone. Jordan rearranged her fingers around it quickly, so she was holding it by the farthest edge from him, and held it out to him at arm's length.

“Anyone gonna care?” she asked.

Dwight grimaced in reply. “Well, no,” he said. “But still. It's not procedure.”

Jordan said slowly: “So someone who's mad at me, and--” she gestured in Audrey's direction: “Lexie.”

“Maybe,” Dwight said. “What's the connection between you two? Nathan?”

Jordan winced; saw Audrey out of the corner of her eye, doing the same. “Subtle, Chief.”

Dwight shrugged. “I'm not here to hold your hand for you, Jordan.”

"Is anyone?” she asked rhetorically. “What the hell do you even want me to say? Audrey's Nathan's—I don't know—true love?” She added heavy emphasis to the words: bit them out. “Is there anyone in town that doesn't know that? Who doesn't think I'm an idiot for thinking—for thinking--”

“Lexie,” said Audrey quietly.

“What?”

“I'm Lexie,” she said, meeting Jordan's eyes. “Not Audrey.”

Jordan laughed bitterly. “Lexie,” she said. “Who is body swapped with Nathan's true love. That's much clearer.”

“Jordan,” Dwight said.

“You're wasting time with me,” Jordan said crisply, and stood up. “And I have to get back to work.”  
She stalked back to the counter, and started ostentatiously rearranging her workspace. Mary Beth glanced over, but didn't say anything. The next time Jordan looked up, hearing cups rattle on the counter, Dwight was in front of the counter again, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a picture frame, and put it on the counter in front of her.

Jordan reached for it. “Oh,” she said, recognizing it after a second. “I must have left it behind.”

“Lucky it wasn't damaged,” Dwight said. “Your grandparents?”

Jordan ran a finger over the glass, although there was no dust on it. “Yeah,” she said. “They raised me.”

There was a moment of silence. “They passed on?” Dwight asked, sounding awkward in the quiet.

“Yeah,” Jordan said. She picked up a cloth, and started wiping down the top of the espresso machine. It was still hot from use, so she had to go carefully. 

“I'm sorry,” Dwight offered. “And, sorry to pry. Bring up memories. Whatever.”

Jordan looked up, met his eyes, and put the cloth down. She took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “You're not. It's a long time ago.”

“Still,” he said.

She looked over at the picture again, at her family, at the little version of her that even she could barely recognize as Jordan anymore. “Thanks for bringing it back to me,” she said softly.

“Sure. I have to get back to work,” Dwight said.

Jordan threaded the fingers of one hand through the cup handles and turned to take them back to the wash up area.

“It's the Guard,” Dwight said from behind her, and she froze.

She looked over her shoulder.

“The connection between your place and Audrey's. It's going to be something to do with the Guard.”

“You think everything's the Guard,” Jordan said, but halfheartedly, without her usual sarcasm.

Dwight shrugged. “Be careful,” he said. “You know where I am.”

“I'll be fine,” said Jordan, and held up her hands to him. “Remember?”

She turned and went back to work, and heard him walk away.

* * *


End file.
